


Painting the roses red

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:41:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Whose castle are we going to?” Grantaire asked even though he already sensed the answer.</em><br/><em>“The White King’s castle,” the hatter answered promptly.</em><br/><em>Of course.</em><br/><em>Because there was obviously a white king who was the good king and the black king was bad, so much to the creativity of his subconsciousness. </em><br/><br/>Grantaire is stuck in a dream of white rabbits with pocket watches, smoking caterpillars, mad hatters, flying cats, bad and good kings and all suddenly he's supposed to be hero and why the hell isn't he waking up from all this?</p><p>An Alice in Wonderland AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down the Rabbithole

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I'm only capable of writing stories set in the weirdest AUs, this just started out you as 'wait, Jehan would be such a perfect Mad Hatter, wouldn't he?' and ... here we are now. 25K later. I don't even know anymore.  
> Well... whatever!  
> This is an Alice in Wonderland AU, loosly based on the Tim Burton Movie. Sorry for mistakes, English isn't my first language, I do as best as I can. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. ♥

***

 

 

In his dreams the roses were white and he painted them red.

Not the red of blood but the red of velvet dresses and ripe cherries and painted lips and sunsets.

He dreamed of flowered teacups, flying pianos and everything was colourful and unreal but he couldn’t have loved it more. Because even though there were monsters that had to be defeated, rivers to cross and hills to climb, he always felt safe since they were dreams and dreams were so different from life.  

 

When he was younger Grantaire had thought of them as another world he sometimes went to, short visits of a different realm, but the older he got the more he understood that flying cats, living playing cards and white rabbits with pocket watches didn’t exist in reality. It had been dreams, nothing more and he sometimes still dreamed of them even though it felt different as if growing up was casting shadows over memories.

But he still felt safe when he recognized some of these things that had been so familiar to him as a child. It meant he was dreaming and dreaming meant he didn’t have to hear the screaming, the crying, the sound of shattering bottles of glass and breaking plates. Dreaming meant that every time it hurt he would wake up and every time he got beaten or someone harmed him it would be over.

 

Dreams were different from life.

 

In reality he could cover his ears with his hands and would still hear his father slurring, screaming and his sister crying and the silence that was his mother. In reality it would hurt. In reality it would continue hurting because he wouldn’t wake up.

 

A few weeks ago he had turned eighteen but it had been just another day, nothing special, a simple Tuesday.

His sister had sung him a song, she had a beautiful voice, soft yet full, sounding much older than her fourteen years. She looked much older as well, drained somehow, sad and always pale, her black hair not as curly as Grantaire’s.

He had finished school in summer, he could have left. He could leave everything behind and just walk out of the house, out of the front door over the small path to the street, turn left and never look over his shoulder.

He could take the back exit as well, sneak through the garden that looked so harmonic and calm, jump over the fence and run over the meadow into the woods.

There was freedom to his left, freedom to his right, in the front and in the back, just not in this house.

But he couldn’t take it because his mother wouldn’t leave. Why would she when she hadn’t done it in all the years in which it all had only gotten worse, the screaming louder, the alcohol stronger.

 

There were some days though; peaceful days like this that could at least _seem_ peaceful.

 

He could have enjoyed the sun warming his back and the smell of flowers and summer air in his nose. He could have tried to catch butterflies and behave like a young boy, lie on the grass and draw and listen to the birds in the trees.

Instead Grantaire tried to concentrate on the book in his lap with all force but still it wasn’t enough. He was reading the same paragraph over and over again for about five minutes. Inside the house he could hear something crashing, the feeling of wanting to run and go inside to help, to do something at the same time was almost too much but his mother had send him outside with his sister to keep her away.

Claire smiled with headphones in her ears, listening to the songs from his mp3 player and walked around in the garden, stopping at a flower from time to time and humming quietly so that he sometimes didn’t even hear it.

 He sighed and gave up reading for a moment to let his eyes wander. The grass was rich green, a yellow butterfly sat on a marigold, the white rabbit was pointing at his pocket watch, there was a crack in the plaster of the house and…wait, what?

 

His eyes darted back.

 

The rabbit looked impatiently at him over the rim of its glasses and swung the golden pocket watch again before it put it back into his dark blue waistcoat.

Grantaire jumped up and almost stumbled over his own legs.

“Taire?” His sister sounded concerned and she took the headphones off, “what are you doing?”

“There’s a...,” he looked from her worried face back to the place where the animal had been but it was gone, “There _was_ a rabbit,” he finished weakly.

Alright, now he was going completely crazy. Because he knew that damn rabbit, it was familiar to him because, he had seen it before _in his dreams_.

And he wasn’t dreaming now so much for sure.

Or was he?

God, maybe he had only imagined it.

“How cute!” his sister squealed and turned around but he just waved it off.  

“It’s gone, I probably scared it.”

She didn’t look happy about it but only shrugged, putting the headphones back on.

He turned around to take the book he had let fall down from the ground.

In the middle of the meadow behind the fence he could see two white ears.

 

Grantaire stopped dead in his movements.

 

A paw rose and in the paw there was a pocket watch.

The book was forgotten.

 

“Claire!”

His sister turned around, removing one ear bud.

“I have to check something, don’t go away and if mum or dad asks say I’ll be back soon.”

“What?” she asked startled.

“Just do what I say,” he called as he jumped over the fence.

“Taire, what are you doing?”

He already started to run because he had spotted the pair of ears at the edge to the forest.

 

“I’ll be back!” he called and then he ran faster.

 

 

***

 

 

It wasn’t difficult to follow the rabbit.

Its white could easily be seen in contrast to the brown and green in the woods, Grantaire only had to take care to not trip over a branch or a stone.

He didn’t even have to run very fast any longer because it was like the animal waited for him to catch up with it.

He could see it standing next to a huge tree from afar, taking the pocket watch out of its waistcoat and looking at Grantaire. It waved, put the pocket watch back and rearranged its glasses before it disappeared behind the tree.

He slowed down his steps the closer he got.

 

It was a dream.

 

He had only slept in on the grass in the garden. He could wake up any minute.

Was it normal to know it when you’re dreaming?

 

He walked around the tree to find a dark hole in the ground about a one diameter; it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything in it, not even when he kneeled down at the edge. He leaned forward a little bit to get a closer look.

Then suddenly something pushed him just a little from behind and then Grantaire fell.

 

 

***

 

 

At first he screamed, more out of surprise as because of the falling, but then he realized he didn’t hit the ground, he was stillfalling and _now_ would have been the time to panic, he didn’t stop, he was in free fall, but he had no fear.

 

It was a dream, when he hit the ground he would wake up.

 

It was more like a dream of flying.

The wind tugged at his clothes, his hair was pushed out of his face and suddenly the darkness vanished and the whole tunnel, it was a tunnel he realized, a big one about 4 metres wide, was filled with light and then he noticed that he wasn’t the only thing falling down.

It started with sounds that were ripped from his ears quickly, piano music, the clinking of dishes bumping against each other, an aria of an opera. Then he could see. He saw rows of books flying down, tea cups and an old sofa, a grand piano played without fingers to tap the keys, a planting pot passed him so closely that he could see the patterns of colourful dots and he was still falling, always falling, flying past a whole group of chair with a table, the table cloth fluttering behind like a flag in the wind.

 

A gramophone spun around to the rhythm of the music.

 

And after some time that felt like it hadn’t passed at all, everything started to slow down, the objects fell behind while he went on and out of nowhere he finally spotted the ground but he didn’t crash, he got closer and closer, slowly, until his feat hovered over the beige floor before they touched the ground.

It felt like landing, just like a bird.

 

A dream, of course, didn’t care about the laws of physics.

 

The walls around him were curved and he looked up when everything started spinning again. This time the fall was short and hard.

It didn’t hurt much, not enough to wake up.

 

Grantaire stumbled up, rearranged his clothes and ran his hand through his hair to push the curls out of his eyes so he could inspect the room properly.

Weird, very weird indeed.

Again it felt like a fitting time to panic, but he didn’t.  
A dream nothing more. A strangely familiar one even. No need to panic.

 

The room was round with beige walls and red and black slabs on the ground. A lantern stood on a table made of glass and filled everything with a warm, yellow light. When he crossed the room with a few steps he found a sliver key and a small bottle on the table top.

He looked around.

 

A key.

So there had to be a door too.

 

It took a moment until Grantaire spotted it at the opposite wall, it wasn’t even as tall as the length of his underarm and yes, he was quite thin, lean even but there was no way he would fit through it.

But he couldn’t be trapped in here as well; there was a key, so there naturally had to be another way.

His eyes found the bottle and took it. It fit into his hand perfectly, he could sling his fingers around it. There was a small piece of paper when he lifted it up that read:

  
_Drink_ _me!_

 

Well, he never had problems with drinking.

Or actually he did have them but not in the way that he wouldn’t drink everything offered to him.

“It’s only a dream,” he said to the silence, shrugged and uncorked the bottle.

 

He took a small sip and god, whatever it was, it definitely _didn’t_ taste good. No idea what it was, but it was awful and left an aftertaste of peppermint in his mouth that didn’t make it better but he didn’t really have the chance to think about it more because suddenly everything got bigger and bigger and no, _he_ was getting smaller.

 

No panic. Grantaire was far to resigned to feel panic. It wasn’t the weirdest dream he had ever had. Shrinking, really. Nothing extraordinary terrifying.

 

He simply walked over to the door and… it was closed.

The key – he looked back – was still lying on the table top. The table top that now was about two body length away from him.

 

Damnit.

 

So even in his dream he fucked it up, how encouraging.

He looked around to see if there was any other option and that was when he spotted a small box under the table. He hadn’t noticed it before because even in his shrunken state it was hardly bigger than his hand. The beautiful painted patterns of birds and flowers covered the lid and when he opened it he found a small piece of cake in it with red topping and cream that formed the words:

  
_Eat me!_

 

“Oh, you got to be kidding me,” he groaned not even caring that no one would answer and took a bite without thinking too much about it.

This time it didn’t tasted bad, there even was a hint of chocolate, and soon he felt his legs and arms getting longer again, he was growing until his head bumped the ceiling and he had to bow his back to fit into the room.

It wasn’t the most comfortable position but now it was obvious how he could finally end this ridiculous procedure so he carefully took the key in his now far too huge hand and with the other he brought the bottle to his hand and drowned the rest of the liquid in one go. There wasn’t much left because he was taller now, the bottle just as big as a finger.

When the world stopped moving Grantaire felt a sudden rush of triumph.

So maybe he didn’t fuck it up completely. And at least his clothes were doing him the favour of changing their size just like his body.

No need to run around naked, even if it was only a dream.

He sprinted to the door and put the key into the locket with a mixture of curiosity and expectation and finally– somewhere in the back of his mind – fear.

 

Grantaire chose to ignore it, took a deep breath and turned the key around around.

The door opened with a creak and he stepped outside.

 

 

***

 

  
It was a dream.

  
Grantaire had stepped into a beautiful dream, a dream that was strangely familiar and all sudden he felt joy like he hadn’t for a long time, he couldn’t even remember how long. Years.

 

The deep blue of the sky above him was softly touched by fainting lilac and scarce strips of red ran through the light feathers of clouds. As far as he could see the floor was overgrown by plants with dark green and blue leaves covered by patterns in lighter colours and black ranks weaved their way up out of the thicket into the sky and everywhere were flowers in all imaginable colours and shapes and it was breathtaking.

 

He stood at the beginning of stairs that lead down on a path and without taking his eyes of the surroundings he stepped forward.

 

The strange harmony in the dance of darkness and light was nothing like anything Grantaire had ever seen before and yet it felt surprisingly familiar as if he had been here before.

It was like something had lifted the shadows from his memories and everything came back in a clash of colours, smells and sounds. He couldn’t take in enough of the little details, the butterflies and moths, the small flying horses not bigger than thumb, the leaves hovering through the air, leaves that were only leaves at the first sight but after a closer look they were just dark green wings for the tiny bodies they carried through the air.

 

The feeling of knowing this place was much more confusing than every strange happening, every fairy like creature, and every wondrous plant.

 

And yet he couldn’t help but smile.

 

“I told you it’s the right R,” someone said and his eyes fell on a group of peculiar creatures standing a few steps in front of him on the path.

Next to the white rabbit that had been speaking stood a tiny mouse even smaller than him, probed on the knob of a sword and was starring daggers at him.

“I’m not convinced,” it said with a frown.

“No, no. I am hundred percent sure it is him,” the white rabbit answered.

Behind them two ball like manikin were standing, both looking exactly the same in white and red stripped pullovers and black trousers except that one of them had full brown hair and the other one was bold.

The last one in the bunch was a turquoise Dodo that seemed utterly confused by the whole situation.

 

Grantaire frowned at them. “How can I be the wrong R if this is my dream?”

All eyes were on him and for some moments no one said anything.

 

The silence was broken by a disgracing snort.

The rabbit scolded the mouse with a simple look over the rim of its glasses.

“Excuse her. Éponine is forgetting her manners sometimes.”

“No, Ferre. I am not forgetting them. I just don’t see a great deal in using them in this case.”

The rabbit ignored her objection and bowed his head a little so that his long white ears swung with the movement to introduce himself.

“I am Combeferre,” it said softly, “The impolite rodent is Éponine” – Éponine just stared at him with a murderous glance in the black mouse eyes – “ and then we have Joly and Bossuet.” The rabbit pointed at the two manikins.

“No, I am Bossuet,” the one without the hair complained.

“No, I am Bossuet, you’re Joly.”

“I am Joly?”

“No, wait!” the other one brought his hands up to his head to touch his hair, “I am Joly!”

“Oh yes, you are and I am Bossuet!” the one without hair nodded contently.

The Dodo croaked.

“Shut up Marius,” everybody said in union.

 

“And you?” the mouse asked sceptically, “Who are you?”

“I am Grantaire but everyone calls me R,” Grantaire said exercised but confused because shouldn’t they know who he was since it was his dream? No one had ever asked him for his name in one of his other dreams. Not in the ones he could remember at least but it didn’t feel like a common thing.

“No, you’re not,” was the mouse’s reply and well, shouldn’t at least _he_ know who he was?

“He is it!” the manikin with the hair said, then the other one immediately disagreed, “No, he’s not… or is he? Wait, it’s him!”

The Dodo croaked.

“No, it is not him.”

“But you said it’s him!”

“Alright, so it’s him!”

“And if it’s not him?”

“It’s not him!”

“Stop all of you!” the rabbit said loudly and everyone silenced.

“I suppose, since we don’t find a solution everyone is comfortable with and it seems like no party is ready to discuss the matter rationally…” The Dodo croaked and the rabbit nodded patiently. “Yes, I am sorry Marius, you’re not sure but that’s not helpful either.”

“So what do we do now, oh wise one,” the mouse asked sarcastically.

The rabbit’s nose twitched and Grantaire was suddenly sure it was smiling.

 

“We bring him to the caterpillar.”

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it so far even though this is definitely the weirdest thing I have ever written and I'd love to hear what you think about it. ♥  
> I'm also [here](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/) in case you want to say hi on tumblr.


	2. A Caterpiller, a Cat and a Tea Party

 

***

 

 

The caterpillar turned out to be exactly that, a caterpillar.

 

They were walking on the curved oath through the thicket, Joly and Bossuet had been arguing at first about who would accompany Grantaire until the white rabbit had put an end to it by saying they could _both_ accompany him. So now he was squished between the two manikins, Éponine was slowly trailing behind them. The Dodo kept looking around over their heads while Combeferre scuttled ahead glancing at the pocket watch from time to time.

Joly and Bossuet kept babbling, finishing each others sentences without noticing doing so.

“The caterpillar,” Joly started and Bossuet added, “knows everything.” “Everything.” “Literally everything.” “With no doubt.” “It knows every answer…” “…to every question.”

“There are always some question not even the caterpillar knows an answer to,” Combeferre said reasonably.

“Does this caterpillar have a name as well?” Grantaire asked because it felt a little bit weird to talk about an (almost) all-knowing creature and addressing it as a caterpillar.

 “Of course it does,” Bossuet said. “Of course the caterpillar has a name,” Joly agreed. “It’s the name of hope.” “And Wisdom.” “Especially of wisdom.”

“But… it’s a _caterpillar._ ”

The mouse behind him laughed and it didn’t sound friendly. “I told you, you got the wrong R.”

“Definitely not,” the rabbit retoured firmly, “He might be a little bit confused right now but he’s definitely the right one. I haven’t been up there to track down dozens of R’s just to finally bring you the wrong one.”

“We’ll see.”

“The caterpillar will know.”

“Why is no one saying the damn name?”

“We just don’t do that,” Combeferre explained, “And not even a lot of people know it. Not everyone is supposed to know it. Just imagine the congestion that would cause. There are a lot of caterpillars but only one of them is _the_ caterpillar. And if everyone would know which one it was the queue would be horrendous, don’t you think?”

“I guess so?” Grantaire agreed even though he didn’t really know what the hell the rabbit was talking about but well, it was just a dream.

 

Dream didn’t need to be logical.

 

“So should I say something like, ‘Hey Mister Caterpillar, how you’re doing’?”

“No,” the rabbit shook the head, “you better don’t do that. You better don’t say anything if you’re not asked to but when you really want to say something” – Grantaire rolled his eyes at that – “Don’t say caterpillar, say Feuilly.”

 

“And how is anybody supposed to be able to pronounce that?”

“Feuilly,” Éponine said extra slowly. “Feuilly,” Joly repeated. “Feuilly,” Bossuet said again.

The dodo croaked.

Grantaire sighed deeply.

 

Suddenly they stopped as they arrived at a small glade between thick dark red leaves. There was fog everywhere but when Combeferre signed him to walk forwards he realized it was smoke that quickly vanished when Grantaire walked through it.

The others followed some steps behind him.

“Who comes to visit me?” a raspy, deep voice asked but he couldn’t see anything.

“Ehm… Feuilly?”

The smoke disappeared and revealed a big, turquoise caterpillar that sat on a leave right in the height of his eyes with  the end of water pipe in one of the many legs when it blew another wave of smoke right into his face.

“You’re not Feuilly,” it said and looked at him over the rim of small glasses, “I am Feuilly. The question is… Who. Are. You?”

“I am R,” he said again beginning to feel impatient. Why did no one know who he was in his own freaking dream?

Feuilly looked at him sceptically. “We shall see.”

“What do you mean? I think I should know who I am,” Grantaire snapped.  

“You _should_ ,” the caterpillar simply said, obviously unimpressed by his sharp tone and then ordered, “Show him the Book.”

The smoke solidified, spun and swirled until it finally formed a big old book that landed on the ground in front of Combeferre opened at a page in the middle.

It was almost as big as the rabbit itself.

“The Book shows us the past, the present and the future.”

“Because everyone can have a crystal ball,” Grantaire muttered under his breath but took a step forward. The others came closer as well.

“This is today,” Combeferre said and pointed at an ink painting that showed exactly the scene that was happening this very moment. A rabbit, a mouse, a dodo, two manikins and a boy with black curls looked into a big book.

Grantaire swallowed when he recognized himself perfectly captured by black lines.

The rabbit turned the page.

 

The next drawing was different.

It was an illustration of a stone hall which walls seemed to continue into eternity but the centre of the picture were two figures. One laid on the stairs, an elderly man, his eyes cold and his face bitter barely hiding the fear. His hands were raised, the tip of a blade rested right between his exposed collar bones. The blade was held by the second man, that could only be seen from behind but the unruly black hair was unmistakeably.

“Three days from now on and the day you defeat the black king will come,” Joly said excitedly and Bossuet added equally thrilled, “And put an end to tyranny and misery.”

“It will be the day you’ll change our world to the better again,” Combeferre stated as if there was no doubt that this was going to be happening.

“It will be”, Feuilly said slowly, “the judgement day.”

 

Grantaire took a step back.

His heart beat so hard in his chest it hurt.

 

“That isn’t me,” he breathed out and took another step back, faster this time.

Éponine nodded enthusiastically, “That’s what I’ve been saying the whole time!”

“You don’t understand, this is not me because… because I am not a hero or anything. I can’t help you or, or for heaven’s sake _save_ you,” his voice grew louder with every word. He ignored their puzzled and partly disappointed looks, “I can’t defeat any king, I can’t defeat _anyone_. I’m just… this is just…”  
He felt the helplessness and fear dwelling up inside him, the feeling that was all too familiar, too frightening, too _real._

 

Without another thought he turned around and ran as fast as possible, leaving the clearing behind, he just had to get away, he had to get out of this, this dream that felt like a nightmare.

 

“Stop,” Feuilly ordered as Combeferre was about to follow Grantaire.

“But he’ll get lost!”

“What do we care?” Éponine snapped, “We don’t have time to bother with the wrong R.”

“He is _not_ the wrong R,” the rabbit insisted and turned to the caterpillar, “Feuilly, tell us if he’s the right R. We have to follow him!”

“Don’t follow. The right R _will_ find the path that is laid out for him.”

 

 

***

 

 

He was lost.

He was utterly and hopelessly lost in his own fucking dream.    
After the pain in his sides had gotten too much to bear he had to stop running, gasping for breath, his hands and legs trembling.

The leaves had gotten darker as well as the sky but he wasn’t sure if it was because the day ended since he hadn’t seen a sun or a moon anywhere or if it was just caused by the arcs of branches and leaves that formed over his head.

When his ability to breathe regularly returned, he started to think clearly again.

 

This was a dream.

He could wake up easily from a dream.

He didn’t need to panic.

He closed his eyes and pinched his arm just like his mother had told him to do whenever he got nightmares. He might have been much younger but it had stuck with him all those years.

 

Grantaire opened his eyes again.

Nothing had changed.

Alright, this was actually weird. Pinching usually worked.  
He looked around and his gaze landed on a plant that looked like the bigger version of a barberry with long, dark thorns. Why the hell not, it was at least worth a try.

He walked over but before he could raise his hand to the sting his finger, a smooth and sounding voice said slowly, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

Grantaire spun around but there was no one to be seen.

“Who are you?”

“Someone who tells you not to do this,” the voice answered from nowhere.

“Why not?” he said anyway feeling utterly ridiculous talking to the air but suddenly right before him a huge pair of green eyes appeared followed by turquoise fur, ears, whiskers and a toothy grin that spread over the whole face of the cat. “Because these things are nasty,” it emphasized the last word and slowly body, legs and paws manifested in the air, a long stripped tail swinging behind while the cat flew a circle around him.

Grantaire frowned. “But I want to wake up.”

“Wake up? Why would you want to wake up darling?” Its voice was hypnotizing, an underlying charm that was soothing.

“It’s just so… mad here,” he said helplessly.

The cat’s grin even widened and it started to giggle like a maniac, rolling around in the air, legs and other parts disappearing and head spinning around.

“Of course it is,” it laughed, “I am mad, you are mad. Everyone is mad around here!”

“How do you know that I am mad?”

It stopped and all the pieces of its body reappeared at the right places. Its head slipped back into the normal position and it laughed again.

“You are here, aren’t you?”

Grantaire didn’t know what to answer.

“So,” the cat casually changed the subject, “What do you call yourself?”

“R,” he simply said and suddenly it looked up, real interest in the big green eyes for the first time.

“ _The_ R?”

He sighed heavily, “That’s been debated.”

“I don’t get involved in debates,” it said and started to fly slow circles around him again, “So what are you going to do next?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

He didn’t wake up so he obviously had to spend more time in this dream. But the place his feet had dragged him really wasn’t the most welcoming one.

“You can’t stay here,” the cat laughed, “this part of the woods isn’t very… lovely.”

“But I don’t know which way to go.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know!” he said again, more firmly.

 

God, why did everyone and everything in this place have to be so damn complicated?

 

“Then the way doesn’t matter,” the cat purred and he really felt like strangling something until it added, “but I can take you to the hatter if you need a place to stay.”

“The hatter?” he repeated sceptically.

The cat had disappeared except for the head which was now nodding up and down.

“I know his little tea party is even littler than before but…you know, it’s a start isn’t it?”

The grin reached its ears.

“Oh… Okay, alright,” he agreed hesitantly. He hadn’t got another idea that would take him out of this woods, he was lost. And he had absolutely no idea where to go.

The head was gone all sudden.

Before Grantaire could panic he saw the cat at the end of the path looking back at him, its bushy tail swinging through the air like a snake through sand.

It voice was challenging matching the grin and the sparkle in its eyes.

“Follow me.”

 

 

***

 

 

“Look, look! It’s him!”

 

When Grantaire approached the table laid with cups and plates and half eaten food the man at the top end jumped up. He was small and slender and wore the weirdest combination of clothes he had ever seen.

Plaid trousers in red and blue stuck in high black lace ups boots, laces untied, over a white button-up he wore a ragged blazer with shoulder pads in a colour that looked like mellow plumps, the sleeves were rolled up and his forearms almost entirely covered by bracelets and ribbons.

His hair, flaming red and curly, was hardly tamed by a huge black top hat which was decorated with withered flowers and bows in different colours.

He stepped on the table and manoeuvred through the clanking dishes.

The mouse Grantaire already knew and another, smaller one tried to secure their cups.

“Well, well,” Éponine mumbled, “See who appears again.”

The man shut her mouth with a piece of cake.

“It’s him,” he said and jumped off the table to kneel in front of Grantaire, “Of course it’s you, welcome, welcome!”

His wide eyes, one blue, one brown, sparkled in excitement and the smile on his lips made the freckles on his cheeks dance.

“Uhm…thanks,” was the only answer Grantaire could think off.

The man didn’t seem to care and took Grantaire’s hand in his which was about three times as big and pulled him on a chair near the top end of the table. He hummed until he sat down and reached for a teapot.

 

“Tea?”

His smile was blinding.

 

“Uhm…”

“Wonderful!”

And he just filled the cup in front of Grantaire with a steaming, dark red liquid.

Suddenly the cat appeared at the other end of the table.  
“You scare him, Jehan,” it said and reached for a cookie.

“Oh do I, Courfeyrac?” the man snapped back.

“Obviously,” the cat chuckled and took a second cookie.

Jehan turned to him with concern in his eyes. “Do I?”

Grantaire immediately felt a rush of fondness. The hatter – well, he was pretty sure it was the hatter given the, well, hat – was the first in this bunch of crazy creatures that didn’t made him feel uncomfortable. He seemed genuinely nice and welcoming (and mad of course but in a kind way).

“No, of course not,” he said and the other man smiled.

“See!”

The cat rolled its eyes.

 

Jehan leaned in to Grantaire and whispered, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

He stared at him in confusion.

“I don’t know?”

What the hell?

The hatter leaned back in his big armchair and took a sip of his tea. The small mouse looked utterly fascinated at a spoon, the other one seemed a little bit nervous in the presence of the cat that just grinned and continued eating cookies.

“So, what are you doing next?”  Éponine eventually wanted to know, “If you want to run again the caterpillar has convinced everyone to let you. So go, no one is holding you back.”

“Hush, hush,” Jehan ordered softly, “Le’s enjoy this wonderful afternoon, alright? We have a guest. We can make this nice, let’s make this nice…”

“Do you even remember the last time something nice happened?” the cat asked mockingly.

 

A shadow fell over the hatter’s face, not just figuratively but literally.

Blood rushed to his pale cheeks, his blue eye turned brown and then darker, darker, he rose from his chair and his voice was suddenly deep.

 

“I do remember those times,” he said lowly, breathing raggedly, “I do remember the light and the happiness everywhere in this land and I do remember the moment it crashed so vividly as if it was yesterday so do _not take…_ ”

“Hatter!” the smaller mouse called.

The hatter’s face immediately turned back to normal.

“Thank you Gavroche,” he said out of breath and fell back into his chair.

The cat’s tail nervously swung back and forth.

Grantaire was silent and watched the whole incident with a weird distance that had seemed to overtake his thoughts.

This was a dream even though he wasn’t able o wake up _yet_. Dreams could be as crazy as they wanted. Everything could happen. Everything was mad. _Everyone_ was mad.

Suddenly the smaller mouse sat up.

“Trumpets,” it said and a moment later trumpets could be heard in the distance.

 

Fear appeared in the hatters’ eyes.

 

“Oh oh,” the cat deadpanned, then grinned, “that’s my clue to leave,” and it vanished.

Jehan didn’t seem to notice.

“Fast, fast,” he said and rummaged in his pockets until he pulled out a little bottle, “Drink that!”

Before Grantaire could protest the bottle was pressed to his lips. The taste was already familiar.

“Not again.”

He started to get smaller until he was only as big as the cup he had been drinking off a few seconds ago. He sighed.

“I am sorry,” the hatter whispered, then he took Grantaire with slender fingers by the waist – he definitely would deny the shriek he let out later – and let him drop into the teapot and closed it.  
Grantaire found himself to the knees in lukewarm tea. .

“What the hell?”

 

The lid opened and one blue eye looked inside. “My apologies for the vexations but you better stay silent if you have a desire of surviving this.”

Then it was dark again.

Surviving. Surely. Alright.

Grantaire tried to keep his breathing steadily what was a little bit difficult given the fact that he was trapped in a goddamn _teapot_ that was bigger than himself.

 

Just a dream, he repeated in his head, over and over again.

   
The silence was oppressive.

It was broken by the voice of the mouse.  
“It’s Javert!” Éponine said – and then they all started laughing like maniacs.

“Good evening, dear inspector,” the other mouse chocked out under laughter.

“Stop that,” a deep voice commanded and immediately silence fell.

Jehan was all politeness when he asked carefully, “Does the Inspector want some tea?”

“I am not here for tea,” came the dead serious reply.

“This is a tea party. Why else would someone come to a tea party if not for tea?”

There were a few moments before everyone broke out into laughter again.

“I’m here on patrol,” he said, “I serve the law. We are looking for the boy.”

 

Grantaire froze.

“Boy?” Gavroche laughing, “boy, he said!”

“Boy!” Jehan repeated under giggles.

“You are all mad!”

“Mad!” Éponine exclaimed, “mad, mad, mad!”

Jehan giggled.

“Spooooooon,” said the younger mouse.

“You are of no use,” the inspector cursed and then the steps of a horse departed.

 

Grantaire held his breath and waited and counted the seconds until the hatter took off the lid of the teapot and helped him out.

“What the hell was that?” he asked again and tried to shake the wetness of his shoes.

Jehan had already jumped off his chair. “That was Inspector Javert, he is looking for you.”

“For me? Why?”

“Because of the prophecy!”

“No, not that again,” he could feel the anger rising in his chest but couldn’t deny the fear that was creeping up inside him too, “Listen, I am not the one you’re looking for.”

“Maybe you aren’t,” the hatter said helplessly, “but you’re the only one who is here right now so no one will care about that.”

 

That was an argument Grantaire wasn’t able to defeat. He slumped. He wasn’t the one they wanted, the hero, the saviour or whatever but someone seemed to think he was and until that someone wasn’t convinced they were looking for him. And whoever _they_ were, he certainly didn’t want to meet them.

 

“Where are we going?”

Jehan licked his lips nervously, “Somewhere safe,” he assured not sounding really convinced but hopeful nevertheless.

He took of his hat, the red curls hoping out of place and set it down on the table in front of Grantaire.

“You better hop on or do you really want to walk the way like that?”

 

***


	3. The Story and the Diamond

 

***

 

Grantaire had never been on a ship. He had sat on a horse once and it was what came closest to what he was experiencing now, only about ten times more bearable.

He sat on the brim of Jehan’s hat and gripped the fabric as tight as possible.

It didn’t make it better that the hatter was walking so fast that he was almost running.  


Grantaire felt sick. “You don’t have one of those funny little cakes I assume?”

“Upelkuchen? You assume correctly but when we get to the castle I am sure we can find some for you.”

“Whose castle are we going to?” Grantaire asked even though he already sensed the answer.

“The white king’s castle.”

Of course.

Because there was obviously a white king who was the good king and the black king was bad, so much to the creativity of his subconsciousness.

“The white king?” he repeated sceptically.

“He will be the white king,“ Jehan explained, his voice full of reverence, “One day. But for now most of the people call him the Diamond.”

Grantaire felt the urge to massage his forehead but he really didn’t want to let go of the hat.

 

They walked the next moments in silence.  


“Hey Jehan?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind telling me the story behind all this? I don’t even know what’s going on here.”  
Grantaire couldn’t see the hatter’s face from his seat on the brim but he was quiet for so long that he thought he had said something wrong and was just about to apologise when Jehan sighed.  
“Alright, I will do you that favour. Listen closely, young stranger in this world, for there are not many who would tell you this story.”

His steps got a little bit slower and Grantaire leaned back and concentrated on his voice as Jehan started to talk.

 

“We had a king, a lot of years ago. We called him the silver king. When he was already past his prime age he still hadn’t got a daughter or a son as his successor. Two wives had died young without bearing children and after the second passed away the king was so heartbroken that he wanted to give up this fortune of life forever.

He had loved both of his wives dearly and he thought that he wouldn’t be able to survive all the pain a third time. But then, the caterpillar told him not to loose faith. It said that there was a path for all of us and that he just had to keep on walking on it instead of choosing the gaping abyss.

And so it came that not much later the king fell in love again.

The Queen was kind and fair and admired by the people.

It is said that her grandmother was a fairy from the upper lands and she was her beauty and grace’s heiress. She was the gold to the king’s silver and she not only bore him one son but two.

Two beautiful young princes and they grew up with the love of a whole kingdom. Every soul, every animal and every plant seemed to love them and the land blossomed. There are stories that tell that the birds took the princes with them from time to time, sheltered them with their wings and they flew up into the sky into the lands over the clouds and as wide as eyes can see.

The two brothers, they were at the same time similar and very different.

Not like two sides of the same coin, more like the same coin but different versions of it.

Where they were equal in beauty both in their way, their characters distinguished.

They got older and the second born was bonding with the people, he was the image of his mother, golden and graceful. He came to the villages, this young boy of ten or eleven years and lighted up the face of everyone he endowed with his presence. The older one though, he rarely accompanied his brother. And if he did he stayed on the sidelines, didn’t speak much. He was like a shadow and he became so more and more, sometimes he wasn’t seen for months outside of the castle and its rose gardens where he was prepared for the day he was going to be king.

I think that was the one thing that didn’t change once that dreadful day came.

The queen passed away.

I remember the funeral like it was yesterday.

The silver king, his shoulders bend like they were carrying the weight of centuries and the younger prince to his right side, a boy of thirteen years, white and golden and beautiful even in sadness and to his left side the other son, the heir to the throne and he was like the night. I remember thinking that I didn’t know what grief was when I saw him. It was like the pain and the mourning had turned his hair black, and his eyes.

I don’t know if a lot of people still saw him afterwards at all but neither did they saw the other brother because the king, filled with grief, did everything to protect what he had left of his beloved wife. He built a tower, high, so high that it took a day to climb all the stairs and down again. The fear of loosing what was most important to him planted madness inside his mind and nothing else mattered anymore.

His kingdom didn’t matter anymore. He had the crown on his head but the ruling wasn’t in his hands but in the ones of his counsellor, his younger brother who was at his side all the time through grief and through growing insanity.

And when the king lay dying, years later, his brother didn’t want to let go of the power he had, all the power that wasn’t his to begin with and to keep. But he had used the protectiveness of their father to keep the princes away from the people. He had gathered strength over the years and support. And people feared him.

There was a plan that had been plotted to free the princes because we were afraid something might happen to them once their father passed away. 

And the night before it was supposed to happen, it was announced that the king had died and before we could act, we saw from afar that the tower was on fire.

It was a burning torch in the sky and all of our hopes were lost for a shattered moment when we got the news of the death of the princes just like we had feared it.

But then, then we got message that the younger prince had survived. We didn’t exactly know how, only that the birds had been able to rescue him from the tower. He was severely injured but they brought him to the fairies and they were able to save his life. They almost lost him but in the end they could heal his body but not his heart.

They hadn’t been able to find his brother in time.

The older prince died that day in the flames. We might have lost our crown prince but the young prince lost a brother.

There hadn’t been a lot of people who knew that the other heir to the throne had survived and he was weak and he had never in life thought that he was going to be king one day.

It gave his uncle time to secure his powers in the chaos that followed and he made himself king as the only living, powerful member of the family. But they never found a body in the ashes and dust. And that left him with fear, fear for the throne he had stolen and a fear similar to this that turned his brother mad. And then the rumours of the young prince being alive started to spread in the land.

If both of the princes had been dead he would have been the rightful king but they weren’t. One of them was alive.

A rightful heir was alive. Only a few knew where he was but people heard of him and from time to time someone even thought to see him and they say that he seemed to them like an angel, blinding, shining, like he was reflecting all the light of the sun and brought it to the earth. That were the rumours that made people start to call him the Diamond and those rumours made his uncle not only frightened but mad. And in his madness he became even more evil and cruel.

Every mention of the prince was treason, everyone who voiced a doubt in him punished with death. The land suffered, darkness came over the sky and so people call him the black king. But only whispered in the nights, whispered in fear because everyone who uses this name will be thrown into the prisons of the castle. And no one who has ever been there gets back.

We have a black king in the black ages who calls himself The Law.

Because that he is, his word is the law in this land, has been the law for too long.

The prince has been more a boy than a man for a long time; he doesn’t have an army or the power to keep up with the king’s forces because a lot of peoples’ fear was greater than their love for a prince who only has only been a forgotten face in a tower for years.

But there’s hope that stirs inside the people, and hope spurs resistance. And when the Judgement day comes and the one who will defeat the tyrant finds a way into the black, poisoned heart of the castle and cuts it out, then the people will get back what is theirs, they will build up our land from where it lies shattered in pieces, their hopes and dreams will finally come true, and our times will be golden once again.”

 

Grantaire remained silent and for a long time the only sounds were Jehan’s footsteps on the ground.

 

 

 

***

 

 

They reached the castle without difficulties. Grantaire didn’t know if that was a good sign or just the calm before the storm.

He had managed a short nap for some minutes or hours, he wasn’t exactly sure. It was weird that he felt tired in a dream but his eyes had fallen shut before he had noticed.

When he opened them again, he still hadn’t woken up but they had arrived in another forest that looked different from everywhere he’d been before.

While the woods Grantaire had been in first had looked mysterious, a strange mixture of threatening and dangerously calming with manly dark colours, they were now walking over a field of summer green grass swinging in a constantly changing wind. Huge tree stems in a light brown were standing every ten or fifteen metres and when Grantaire looked up the treetops were so far from the ground that he could only make out a mass of red leaves which let through just enough light to illuminate the earth.

 

The hatter approached one of the giant trees and softly ran his hand over the bark. Then he knocked once, twice and waited.

  
“What is happening now?” Grantaire asked and Jehan put off his hat so he could look at Grantaire.  
“We need permission to enter or we’ll stand here for the rest of our lives until we are old, grey and dead,” he explained happily. “Oh look, there they come!”

 

 _They_ turned out two little robins with red chests that landed on top of the hat. They were about twice as big as Grantaire.  

“Good day,” Jehan greeted them, “Would you bring word that the hatter and a guest who has come from very far are asking for permission to enter the castle of the Diamond.”

The robins looked at each other then flew away again.  
“And now?” Grantaire asked sceptically.

“Now they take our request to the king and either they will let us in or not but I am quite sure they will. They know you’re here.”

Grantaire nodded even though he didn’t feel half as enthusiastic as the hatter. He knew what was expected from him – well, the basics – but he had already made it clear that he wasn’t the one they were looking for and he was going to say it again no matter how many kings he disappointed.

He was only here because the castle was obviously a safe place and he didn’t really wanted to meet whoever had appeared at the tea party from a close-up.

A heartbreaking story wouldn’t change anything about that. Perhaps only that it made him feel guiltier after all.

 

“You don’t have to worry,” Jehan said calmingly with a fondness in his big eyes that made it even harder for Grantaire to think of disappointing him, “the king can come of a little bit fierce or… a little bit more than that. Intense. Maybe.” He shrugged and tried an encouraging smile.

 

Grantaire didn’t really know how this was supposed to be calming but he nodded anyways.

Jehan smiled wider, “Chin up, everything will happen as it is supposed to. There’s a path for every single one of us. No matter in which world we wander.”

 

Grantaire was about what he meant by that but suddenly the tree started moving.

 

The giant, old tree started to _move_ like it was growing within seconds. It’s spun around its own axis until the entwinements loosened. A small opening to the inner of the tree stem appeared and Grantaire had seen a lot in the past few hours – or had it been days already? – including rabbits with pocket watches and waistcoats, smoking caterpillars and flying, turquoise cats but a tree that looked like it

had survived centuries which started to move effortlessly and elegant was definitely a size larger.

 

The hatter entered while Grantaire was still gaping in shock.

 

Inside the tree it was dark except for the daylight that shone in.  

Jehan put his hat back on. The last thing Grantaire saw was his grin.

“You better hold on tight,” Jehan said, kept the hat close to his head with a hand while the other reached into the air and got embraced by a branch and the surprised squeaking noise was ripped from Grantaire’s lips when they were pulled up into the air and higher and higher in vertiginous speed.

His hands hurt from clenching around the edge of the hat and Jehan was laughing like a child.

Or a maniac.

Probably latter.

It was over quickly but Grantaire still felt like throwing up.

That was until the canopy of leaves opened and they were lifted up slowly.

 

“Holy shit.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” was all he was able to say.

 

They were over the top of the trees; a whole sea of dark red leaves touched the horizon in the distance. There was no sun like Grantaire knew it from the real world but gold linings ran through the blue of the sky like dissolving paint. About hundred metres ahead of them strong branches were entangled and had grown into the form of a naturally beautiful, dreamlike castle in the leaves.

Jehan walked forwards and at every step he took a rank got hold of his foot so he wouldn’t fall. They reached the wooden steps to the entry door which was build to wooden pillars that looked so naturally grown that they could not have been made by human hands.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before, it’s beaut…”

The word died in Grantaire’s mouth.

 

It was like everything suddenly slowed down, the world around him, the thoughts in his head and everything he could do was to stare, try to remember how to breathe and stare.

 

The man who ran around the corner almost fell over when he came to halt at the top of the stairs.

He was beautiful.

 

Grantaire didn’t know how he could have ever considered anything else beautiful.

Suddenly there was a reasonable explanation that there was no sun in the sky in the world of his dreams. Because it had fallen to the earth in the shape of a man, almost still a boy.

He seemed to be radiating light, his pale skin glowing from the inside, his curls flowing rivers of shining gold. He was wearing all white, a silken tunic and pants, his feet were bare.

He was tall, standing proud, his features were delicate yet defined, high cheekbones, straight nose and full lips, the only hint of true colour, a bright red like spilled blood, slightly parted as he steadied his breathing.

And his eyes, his eyes were like nothing Grantaire had ever seen before. Long lashes framed eyes in the colour of amber with starry sparkles of gold like someone had not only put the sun under his skin but the stars from the sky into his eyes as well. On his head sat a small wreath of golden leaves that almost drowned between curling hair.

 

No one had to tell Grantaire that it was a crown.

 

When the king appeared Jehan took off his hat and sat Grantaire with it on the stairs to go down on his knee.

“Stop it,” the young man said softly, a painful expression hovering over his face, “No one is kneeling for me.”

Grantaire could have seen the nervousness on the hatter’s face would he not have been staring at the way the man’s lips moved when he spoke.

“Your majesty,” Jehan said apologizing and stood up.

“Jehan,” he sighed, “I thought we’ve been over this.”

A smile spread over the hatter’s face and the king returned it, then he looked to Grantaire and this smile was clearly directed him and for the first time, he didn’t want to wake up.

The young man walked down the stairs and kneeled in front of him. Grantaire and he felt just as small as he was under the gaze of golden eyes but the smile; the smile was like the sun breaking through clouds and shadows.

And he didn’t want to wake up.

“It’s an honour to meet you,” the kind said, golden curls falling in front of his eyes and Grantaire was torn between laughing and crying at the ridiculousness of the situation.

And right, he was supposed to say something.

What do you say when an angelic creature that additionally was the rightful king of the world of his dreams said it was an honour to meet _him_ , Grantaire, not vice versa.

 

“Thank you?” he tried and at least he was able to speak what made him add a quick, “You majesty?”

The man rolled his eyes, and god, he was gorgeous. A pattern of golden freckles spread over his pale cheeks.

 

“Please don’t call me that. My name is Enjolras.”

“Oh… okay,” Grantaire said intelligently until he thought that people here probably never heard the word okay. “Sure, alright. I am Grantaire. R. Ehm, people call me R.”

“I know,” Enjolras smiled and Grantaire’s heart dropped in his chest.

 

Of course he did.

   
Enjolras stood up and turned to Jehan. “I am grateful for bringing him here but I actually expected him to be a bit… taller?”

Jehan blushed just as much as Grantaire. “Ehm, well,” the hatter started his explanation, “I didn’t have any cake left.”

Enjolras laughed, a sound clear as bells that made him look even more like a boy. “I’ll take care of that,” he assured, “Maybe you could go and find Combeferre, Jehan, our poor friend has been a bundle of nerves ever since he came here.”

The hatter nodded enthusiastically and hurried away with his hat. Enjolras looked after him, then at Grantaire and frowned.

“It’s alright, I can walk,” Grantaire guessed his thoughts, “I’m actually glad to stand on solid ground again.”

“Come along then,” Enjolras said smilingly and Grantaire followed him up the stairs into the castle. They entered an open hall with wooden pillars that formed high windows and arches and a ceiling of red leaves glowing like a sunset.

Enjolras snipped his fingers and the trees that had been the door entangled and closed it like that.

 

“How is that even working?” Grantaire asked disbelievingly.

Enjolras shrugged, “Trees have a very helpful nature if you treat them well _and_ they have to like you because these things can be quite sensitive and… ouch!” A little twig had shoot out of a branch and poked his arm before it quickly grew back.

“See?” he grinned and Grantaire could only stare. “Don’t they do this where you come from?”

“No,” he said slowly, “No, they don’t.”

“Really? How sad. I can’t imagine how boring that would be.”

“Well, you grow up with it, I guess.” Grantaire tried a little bit helplessly.

“I suppose you do,” Enjolras agreed and seemed lost in his thoughts for the next steps until they reached the side of the hall.

He gently ran a long slander finger over the bark of a tree and immediately a broad branch grew in front of his feet. He stepped on it and beckoned Grantaire to the same and when he did the branch started to move around the tree, going upwards like a spiral staircase. Grantaire tried hard not to look down or think about what would happen if he tripped or _moved_.

He felt something nudging his side and a small twig was forming a handrail he could hold on.  

“They like you,” Enjolras said and smiled down on him.

  
Grantaire really, really didn’t want to wake up.

 

The branch stopped not much later at the entrance of a tower that seemed to be kitchen. It smelled like a kitchen.

About two dozens robins flew around carrying pans and plates together. In the middle of the chaos stood a broad man with an apron, white pants, a cooking hat and nothing more at a table, chopping green leaves within seconds before throwing them into a pot. He didn’t notice them entering and poured some soup on a plate before tasting it carefully. His face fell.

Enjolras ducked in advance before the plate could hit him as it flew across the room. The trees of the wall snapped apart and let it fly through before closing again.

The man cursed under his breath and murmured, “No, no, no. Pepper, we need pepper, pepper.”

“Good day Bahorel,” Enjolras greeted but the only response was a grunt. He turned to Grantaire. “In his core he is a very warm-hearted person. But he can’t take a joke when it’s about pepper.” A robin landed on Enjolras’ shoulder and another one in his hair.

He didn’t seem to mind. Instead he started to look through the drawers that opened whenever his hand got close.  

“It’s not easy to find Uppelkuchen these days. We don’t use it very often,” he explained, “but Jehans’ methods have always been a little bit unconventional but well, he’s called the mad hatter, isn’t he? No one wears their name for nothing.”

“You are called the Diamond,” Grantaire said.

 

Enjolras stopped in his movements and swallowed. He didn’t answer.

 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“What? No! No, you didn’t,” he assured quickly and Grantaire was at least a little bit less concerned. Still he felt like he had hit a weak spot.

“They just…,” Enjolras started with a sigh, “I don’t want anyone to call me king. Or majesty. I was never meant to be king. I never wanted to be king or a prince. The ages of kings and princes are over or at least I believe they should be. There is too much responsibility and power in the hands of one person who wasn’t even chosen for it but got handed it at birth or even not. And the prospect of such turns good men evil. We all saw it happen.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head before started to look through the drawers again. “And you heard the story, I suppose?”

“Jehan told me,” Grantaire simply answered because he didn’t know what else to say.

Enjolras nodded as a robin tapped at his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said and carefully took the packet from the little bird.

He turned to Grantaire and smiled but there was still sadness in his beautiful eyes. Then he opened the package and handed him a small peace of cake.

It wasn’t white like the first one but red and about as big as Grantaire’s hand.

“Two bites are enough,” Enjolras explained, “There’s a special ingredient, one that should recreate your original height.”

Grantaire tried not to concentrate on the word _should_.

He didn’t like being small but being huge wouldn’t be too great either.

 

The ceiling looked relatively low.

Or Enjolras was just really tall.

 

Grantaire took one bite that tasted like chocolate and strawberry and a something else different from the one in the room he had arrived in. The difference wasn’t only about the taste but its speed as well.

Instead of growing slowly like Grantaire had expected he practically shot up what made him loose his balance but he caught himself from stumbling about two centimetres before he crushed into Enjolras who was… indeed tall, very tall.

From so close his eyes looked like warm, golden galaxies and right when he was able to see that it meant they were standing much to close for being… appropriate. Whatever. He should probably start thinking again. Moving. Or something.

It took Grantaire a few  seconds too long to take a step back and ran his fingers through his hair.

Enjolras smiled. “Wonderful. Back to normal, are we?”

Grantaire almost laughed at that because _normal_ was the last thing he had ever thought of calling anything that happened to him.

Instead he simply said, “Thank you.” And Enjolras just nodded in response.

 

“Where the hell does he come from?”

Grantaire flinched and right, he had totally forgotten about the cook who was now looking sharply at him as if he had only just noticed that he was there – what he probably had.

 

“He’s our guest, Bahorel,” Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire was met by another suspicious glance before the other man shrugged and started cleaning the knife in his hand with his apron.

“I hope he likes pepper.”

  


***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick announcement, I have my final exams coming up so I don’t know when I’ll be able to post the rest of this, it’s really stressful and all. Updates on this I'll post on my [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/). So I hope you liked the chapter and don’t mind maybe waiting a bit for the next one. ♥


	4. Fiction and Fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two out of five exams done, I'm trying my best making time to update this. Hope you enjoy the chapter and sorry for mistakes as always.♥

 

***

 

 

Grantaire stared into the night sky that was streaked by thin golden and silver lines. There weren’t any stars in the world of his dream but that didn’t make it less beautiful.

 

He inhaled the cool air to clear his head.

 

In a suitable moment he had managed to slip out of the hall where people and speaking animals he had never seen before in his life were celebrating the arrival of their “saviour”, the “chosen one”, the “defeater” or what other words and names they came up with for him and each one of them looked so happy and relieved that every smile felt like someone was stabbing him with the pointy and of a stick.

And every time he even tried to voice that he wasn’t the one they were looking for someone shook their head with such bliss in their yellow cat eyes, or brown human eyes or green lizard eyes that the lump in his throat killed every word before it could get out of his mouth.

Enjolras was like a golden light in their middle and still all of their hope lied on Grantaire, they cast their glances at him while he couldn’t look back.

The birds sang playful melodies with the different voices of an orchestra and it seemed they were already celebrating the new land they were longing for. 

 

Grantaire could see the feeling of hope in each one of them.

He mostly felt sick.

 

In a moment no one paid him attention because Jehan was trying to convince Combeferre to tap dance what the rabbit vehemently wanted to refuse, Grantaire stood up, telling the friendly young racoon next to him that he was going to get something to drink because of all the pepper in the food, and took a few steps backwards until he reached the wood of the trees that were forming the hall.

He felt ridiculous when asked the goddamn _trees_ if they were able to get him out somewhere he could be alone for a moment but only seconds later branches silently and softly pulled him backwards into a forming whole in the bark and blocked his view on the celebration.

Then he felt himself being lifted up carefully when they continued their slow, steady movements. He was sure that some had to have noticed him disappearing but maybe he would have at least some minutes for himself.

The tree opened again and he stepped onto a balcony.

 

It had to be a balcony because in his back the castle was still winding its way into the sky and he could see the treetops in front of him, and their leaves that looked almost black in the night.

 

Grantaire heard the steps behind him but didn’t turn around until Enjolras stood beside him at the railing formed of delicate intertwined branches.

 

No one said anything, they just looked into the distance for a while but Grantaire knew that they couldn’t do this forever as much as he wanted to.

 

“I will wake up from this,” he said before Enjolras could ask or say something and his voice felt like an unwelcome intruder in the silence.

“Do you really believe this is a dream?” Enjolras replied with a question, still facing the endless sea of leaves. His eyes were still shining golden like they didn’t care it was in the middle of the night.

“Of course,” Grantaire answered bitterly, “this all comes from my own mind.”

Enjolras turned around, a golden curl falling from the ponytail he had his hair tied up to, his expression wasn’t angry. It also wasn’t sad what would have been Grantaire’s second expectation. Instead it could only be described as stubborn. 

“Am I not real too?” he asked. 

“I’m afraid you are.” _Even though I don’t want you to be._ “You’re just a figment of my imagination as is this place. Only I could come up with a world as mad as this one.”

Enjolras didn’t look away, Grantaire could feel his eyes on his face as he replied sternly, “But then you would have to be mad yourself to dream all this up.” 

“I must be than.”

Silence, for some seconds.

“Well I don’t care if you are,” Enjolras said bluntly. “I also don’t care if you’re _the_ R we’re looking for and I don’t care if you’re the one who is supposed to save this land. You are smart, you are genuine. Everyone believes in you. All I care about is that you _are_ the best possible option we have.”

Grantaire almost felt like laughing at the other man’s fierceness, but eventually he only shook his head, then looked up to meet Enjolras’ eyes. “When you’re so desperately in need of a hero why can’t _you_ do it. You or … or _anyone_ else?”

Enjolras frowned and it made him look older, less like a boy Grantaire’s age and more like a prince, an heir to the throne, whose whole family at died, at the brink of victory or defeat.

 

“Believe me, I would do it myself if I could.”

 

His answer and the bitterness in it took Grantaire by surprise. It had to be written all over his face because Enjolras laughed shortly.

It didn’t sound bright and childlike anymore, it almost sounded envenomed. It felt wrong for Grantaire to hear it like this, like it wasn’t supposed to be this way round.

“You expected me to say because you’re destined," Enjolras spoke out what Grantaire was thinking, "because the prophecy says you’re the hero, the saviour and we all have to listen to the prophecy.”

“That’s what everyone else says.”

“Then I am not everyone else in this case,” Enjolras replied sharply.

If Grantaire could have foreseen that his dream would turn into a sappy, romantic comedy, he would have probably tried to never sleep again but now that he was already in the very middle of it he couldn’t stop himself from thinking, “You’re not like anyone else at all.”

And suddenly he wasn’t sure if he said it out loud but surely his heartbeat had to be loud enough to hear in the nightly silence.

 

Enjolras sighed heavily, giving no indication if he had noticed anything or not, and then lifted his hands to start opening the ties that held together the front of his tunic.

Grantaire’s first thought was that this was probably more of a normal dream territory for his eighteen year old teenage self, his second went like, 'alright, now this is really becoming totally surreal, what's going on?'

Not that everything else wasn’t surreal but…

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Enjolras didn’t seem to be even mildly concerned by Grantaire’s slightly high pitched voice and continued opening his shirt. “You want to know the reason that is keeping me from doing what is expected of you. We don’t have all night to explain so it is far easier if I just show you. Give me your hand.”

Grantaire complied like in trance and tried very hard to keep looking into Enjolras’ eyes and not to drop his gaze because he had _put his shirt off_  but then Enjolras reached for his wrist and pulled him closer in a quick movement and with more strength Grantaire had expected. As soon as his fingers touched the exposed skin of Enjolras’ shoulder though he immediately realized that something was wrong. Different. He certainly wasn't touching skin, it wasn’t soft, it wasn’t warm like Enjolras’ fingers around his wrist. And then the colour under his hand seemed to be swept away like someone had thrown a stone into water.

 

“What…” Grantaire said breathlessly as more and more of the pale skin disappeared.

The cold, clear material that Grantaire felt under his hand was exposed more and more and revealed to lead down Enjolras’ right arm, his torso, over his shoulder to the side of his neck leaving three thin and irregular strips on his cheek and stopping right before his heart. Golden and silver-white streaks of different shades and width and length like veins and muscles and flesh were separated from Grantaire’s hand by just a single layer of see-through hardness as smooth and flawless as the rest of the skin, just so much colder.

Grantaire couldn’t keep himself from tracing it carefully with his fingers up to Enjolras face where the last steak ended just under his right eye.

“I can make it unseen to everyone when I want to," he said calmly, "There aren't many who have seen this and even less on purpose."

  
Grantaire remembered Jehan’s words gain. “That's why they call you the Diamond.”

Enjolras flinched but he didn’t step back, his fingers still wrapped around Grantaire’s wrist.

 

“I might be the only one then who doesn’t do his name justice.”

 

He slowly pushed the white fabric off his shoulder and exposed his right arm made completely out of the shimmering material. Grantaire could see the slightly distorted image of the flagged floor through the tangle of golden lines. Right at the heel of the hand though the flat surface was shattered and like the web of a spider hairline cracks ran through it all the way up the fingers and down to the wrist.

“I wasn't here for long and ran down the stairs and fell,” Enjolras explained, his voice stiff, “The trees weren’t able to catch me in time so I tried to catch the fall with my hand. It’s not diamond. It’s glass.”

“Why…,” Grantaire started and helplessly didn’t know how to continue the question but Enjolras seemed to understand what he wanted to ask.

 

“When my uncle set fire to the tower my –” he stumbled slightly of the next word – “brother and I were staying in, I was up at the top when I realized what was happening. They had started the fire in the middle where we had our chambers and when I saw the smoke I ran down to look for my brother but I couldn’t find him. I tried to get down further but the stairs were in flames and everything started trembling and falling and I still tried to find him but…” He swallowed and Grantaire could feel the grip around his wrist tighten. “Eventually I fainted from the smoke and two of the falcons were able to save me before everything crumbled completely because I hadn’t been right in the middle of the fire when it started but my arm was burned heavily and they brought me to the fairies also since neither my father or my uncle knew where exactly they live. That was when they realized that it hadn’t just been a simple fire but _changed_ somehow. It must have been something dark my uncle came up with, something poisonous because the burn started to spread. To stop it they had to cut it out and to keep me alive they replaced it with _this._ ”

 

He spat out the last word and it felt like a punch in the face.

 

Grantaire stared at him. “They saved your life,” he said disbelievingly and Enjolras clenched his jaw before he answered.

“I know they did. And I am forever in their debt. It just took me a long time to see it like that but sometimes, when I realize that I am literally like glass that shatters if someone drops it, that I am _fragile_ , I think of what would have been if I could have just followed my brother.”

 

“You know what would have been, you would be _dead_.”

 

Enjolras’ golden eyes turned stone-cold but Grantaire couldn’t care less if he was insulting some kind of law by calling out a prince or whatever he was when said prince certainly needed it.

“You’re the only hope of the people. You are _good_. You want to change things and you’re going to, you don’t need an arm or a sword when you have a voice and people who will fight for you.”

“Will _you_?”

  
Grantaire looked down. “I can’t.”

 

Enjolras nodded gravely. “I won’t force you. No one should live their life to please others. The choice must be yours.” He carefully let go of Grantaire’s wrist and stepped back. The colour of his skin spread back over his arm when he pulled his tunic back on.

“You don’t believe in this. You think this is a dream. And as long as you don’t believe in anything you can’t believe in yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said and he had never meant it more.

Enjolras nodded once more, his expression less stern and softer. “I believe you.”

When Grantaire looked back into his bright, golden eyes that seemed to shine even in the night he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I’m going to miss you when I wake up.”

 

Enjolras’ mouth twitched but he didn’t reply. He simply bowed his head, just slightly so his golden hair fell into his face.

Then he turned around only to say right before he reached the tree, “Just ask the trees and you’ll be lead to a place where you can sleep tonight. The delegation heading for my uncle’s castle will leave an hour after sun rise.”

After the trees had embraced him, Grantaire stood alone on the balcony again with nothing but the night sky above him and suddenly he felt like it was staring at him.  


 

***

 

 

He hadn’t been able to sleep more than what felt like half an hour.

Grantaire was exhausted and drained, emotionally and physically, but still he didn’t want to close his eyes. When he had fallen asleep on Jehan’s hat he hadn’t realized it but as he lay still, awake in a soft bed in a room in the inside of a tree, he couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t supposed to sleep in a dream.

 

It was still a dream and the more real it felt the more sick it made him.

 

In a dream everything of this was his own imagination.

He wasn’t a hero and there was no one he had to be a hero for because no one was real, not this land, not the creatures he met, not even Enjolras.

There was no one who needed saving and Grantaire didn’t need to believe in anything. People like Enjolras only existed in dreams, in fairytales.

Someone so entirely good, so pure. An angel, a prince who didn’t want any of the privileges he was born with, only to use them so that everybody was free and equal.

Someone who could have power and wealth and be a leader but only wanted back the peace and the happiness.

Someone who still mourned for his brother after years and who cared about every single being so that he even let Grantaire decide if he wanted to help them even with knowing that in case he didn’t the bright future he whished for wasn’t going to happen.

 

Grantaire was going to wake up from this, from _him_ , and he was still going to be left wondering what would have happened if he had decided to be the hero they so desperately needed because he knew that _if_ everything of this was real, he would do it.

He would do it, not because _he_ believed that he could be a hero but because Enjolras believed that he could be. Even with the prospect of death he would do it.

Because if someone like Enjolras really existed Grantaire knew that he would do anything for him.

 

Only that he didn’t exist.

 

The sun had risen on Grantaire’s second day in his dream and in front of the wooden castle all the preparations for the journey to the final battle were made.

He had let the trees carry him to the meanwhile empty hall but in the end couldn’t bring himself to step out of the castle to meet the disappointed and hopeless faces of the ones he had abandoned.

Even though not real, it still hurt to see them.

 

Instead he found himself back on the balcony where he and Enjolras had talked in the night.

Now he could see even further over the sea of dark red leaves that was touched by a golden light on the horizon.

On the steps of the palace Grantaire saw the hatter helping three huge birds – falcons, he reckoned, he hadn’t expected them to be literally as big as horses – to put on armour. Combeferre stood on the highest step and obviously gave Jehan instructions of what to do. A whole bunch of robins flew around, bringing light baggage, probably provisions for the journey. The chest shire cat was hovering in the air next to the rabbit and for the first time actually looked miserable.

 

He didn’t know how long he had stood on the balcony and looked down but suddenly the portal opened and Grantaire only needed to see the halo of golden hair to know Enjolras stepped out. He had also put on something that looked like a very light yet shielding suit of armour in white. When he realized he was carrying a long sword in one hand Grantaire froze.

“What the hell?”

Was he planning to go with them?

He would get himself killed, he couldn’t do it, he had said it himself.

 

A throaty laugh made Grantaire startle.

He hadn’t realized that there was someone else on the balcony and when he looked around his eyes eventually found the turquoise caterpillar that was hanging headfirst from a branch between dark red leaves. It was almost completely wrapped up in a white cocoon.

He frowned and stepped closer. “Feuilly? What is happening?”

The caterpillar sighed heavily. “Nothing you have to worry about. I have to leave once more. Life and death happens to all of us and my time has come again.”

 

“But you can’t leave now,” Grantaire declared. “Enjolras is running into his _death_. You have to tell him to stop!”

Feuilly raised something that was probably supposed to be an eyebrow. “Why? I thought you didn’t think any of this was real?”

“I don’t!” Grantaire almost shouted. “But if feels like it is!”

He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest; he could feel the wind, the fear and most of all the hopelessness that washed over him when he saw Enjolras ready to fight a hopeless fight. He could feel how much he hated himself for not doing anything. All of it felt real but it _couldn’t_ be, he _couldn’t_ believe. Grantaire blinked the tears away that started to fill his eyes.

“You got me into this mess with this prophecy or whatever! You can’t just go now. I don’t know what to do!”

Feuilly blinked slowly. “I can’t help you. You don’t even know who you are yourself, stupid boy.”

 

“I am _not_ stupid!” Grantaire yelled back at a goddamn _caterpillar_. “I know who I am, okay? My name is Grantaire but people call me R because I hate that name, I hate it because it reminds me of my father. I hate myself because I am a coward who can’t bring himself to stand up against him. I have a sister. Her name is Claire and I can’t help her. I can’t help my mother because I am not a damn hero. I am just eighteen! I am eighteen years old and I don’t believe in fairytales anymore but god, I wish this place was real because for the first time people actually seem to believe I _could_ do something like this, that I could do something good and heroic even though _I_ can’t believe it but I wish I would!”

 

“Grantaire,” Feuilly said, emphasizing each syllable and sounding utterly pleased, “R, at last.”

 

Grantaire silenced more confused than before but at the same time clearer, after everything he had said his mind felt free, light and realisation dawned even before Feuilly stared speaking.  
“You’ve always been a little bit dim-witted, haven’t you? Thought you had changed in the all those years but turned out you were still the same stubborn and foolish boy like the last time you were here. You called this place Wonderland, I recall.”

 

It felt like someone had flipped a switch in Grantaire’s mind because all the shadows, all the wondering how things so crazy could feel so familiar – suddenly there was light instead of the thick, confusing darkness that had kept it all hidden from him, all the moments, all the feelings and thoughts, all the _memories._

The hatter with the mice sitting at a bright and laid table, with flowers and tea. The flying cat that asked for his name and the roses, the _roses_ , the white ones in the gardens of the castle that he had painted red, a flaming red like velvet dresses and sun dawns and cherries. A boy his age with golden hair standing by a window and watching them, him and the little round manikins as they laughed and danced. The taste of cake.  A piece of paper.

 

_Eat me. Drink me._

_Eat me._

_Drink me._

 

 

 

_We’re painting the roses red._

 

 

“This place is real.”

Grantaire looked up. “Everything is real, you and Jehan and… and Enjolras!” He could feel a smile creeping up his face, a smile of relief and happiness defeating the rest of disbelieve, the rest of darkness.

“And the Black King,” Feuilly said and Grantaire’s heart dropped.  

 

 

***  



	5. The Theory of the Universes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final exams are my personal hell and I apologize that it's taking me so long to update. But here is the last chapter before the final showdown. Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy it. ♥♥♥  
> Sorry for mistakes, as always.

***

 

Grantaire could have sworn that Enjolras shone brighter than any sun he’d ever seen when he stepped out of the palace and onto the steps.

 

“You changed your mind,” he said and it wasn’t a question.

“Feuilly did.”

 

Enjolras nodded earnestly but the smile hadn’t left his face and brightened his already golden, shining eyes. “That he did. But you made a decision and only you.”

“I’m not going to leave you without hope.” Grantaire silently prayed it sounded more like a universal you, as in all of you, everyone around here, even though he couldn’t stop himself from not meaning it like that.

 _You_ and only you.

“You give us more than hope,” Enjolras said. He held Grantaire’s gaze for a few more seconds in which neither of them said anything else, then he bowed his head, just slightly and turned around to the closest bird and swung himself easily into some sort of saddle.

“What are you doing?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire who stared at him in disbelief. “Well, we have to leave. The earlier we do so, the better.”

“But you can’t fight. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I can’t fight with a _sword_ ,” Enjolras replied and the stubbornness had found its place in his voice again, “But I am not useless. I am not going to sit here and wait for a happy ending. I know the castle, I know my uncle. You might be the saviour but you don’t have to do this alone. I can help you, we can help you,” he nodded towards Jehan and Combeferre who stood next to another huge bird that seemed to be totally unimpressed by the happenings, “We will go with you, as long as we can.”  
With that the bird leapt into the sky and left Grantaire staring after it with wide eyes and the urge to punch Enjolras in his ridiculously handsome face for bringing himself in danger clearly knowing the risks.

What did they plan, marching right into the castle of someone who was called the goddamn Black King with three men, a rabbit and a flying cat?

“He _has_ a plan,” Jehan said as if he was reading Grantaire’s mind. “And we will explain it to you but for now we have to leave. We can’t be too late for Judgement day.”  
Grantaire scoffed. “Of course not.”

The hatter nodded enthusiastically. “We won’t let anything happen to our king,” he said before he took place in the saddle of another bird.

The white rabbit hopped in front of him and checked his pocket watch.

“Three minutes after sunrise, we’re already late!”

The bird set of with a jump and before Grantaire could say anything something tapped at his shoulder. The third bird behind him looked at him with judging big brown eyes.

Birds probably couldn’t raise eyebrows but it damn felt like that.

“Uhm, hey.” Grantaire said intelligently and really, no one could have thought of telling him how to maybe get on that thing? Because it was totally normal to ride a giant bird, right?

 

Hell, it probably was around here.

 

The bird honest to god rolled its eyes then and Grantaire almost had a heart attack when it said impatiently, “Stop staring like a fish and get up here, I surely won’t lead our chances of defeating that lunatic of a would-be king towards zero by letting our biggest hope drop from my back, you nitwit.”

 

***

 

Grantaire didn’t know what he had expected of the following flight on a huge speaking bird to the castle of an evil king he was supposed to kill.

Maybe more fear of heights.

Maybe Jehan telling another story or Enjolras explaining the Plan, shouting god knew how many feet above the solid ground.

Maybe views of breathtaking landscapes with bubble pink trees or green rivers. 

What he hadn’t expected were soothing wing beats, the softness of feathers under his hands and the pleasant warmth of the sun on his skin. Despite the not exactly comfortable position in the saddle Grantaire hadn’t even realized how his eyes had shut not before long.

 

He hadn’t figured out how time worked in this place but last night he had only slept for a few minutes if even that, and before, he only remembered napping on Jehan’s hat when the went to the castle in the trees. He had forgotten how tired he was during the whole ‘oh wait, this place is real’-revelation and as soon as no one actively expected him to do something, no talking, no king-killing just yet, his tired body and even more tired mind had taken their toll.

Maybe it was easier to sleep now that Grantaire knew he would actually wake up and still be in this world again.

That he wouldn’t wake up to for once not rainy England in summer any minute.

Even though they were on a mission that clearly shouted hara-kiri it was a surprisingly soothing thought.

He wasn’t crazy, not more than usually anyways and there was a place where people believed in him more than anyone had ever believed in him before. It was more comforting than frightening. It was easier to believe in something impossible when he was sitting on the back of a bird three times as big as him flying over a land that shouldn’t exist but did.

 

Maybe there was hope.

Grantaire slept and he didn’t dream.

 

He woke up when a hand came to rest on his shoulder and pressed slightly. When he opened his eyes he realized he had tilted forwards, his head rested on the bird’s neck and Enjolras looked down at him with a smile, small and tight but still honest.

“If you don’t stand up now, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

It was dark around them. In the corner of his eye Grantaire saw Jehan fiddling with an old-fashioned lamp, the second one was already lit and lightened the setting at least a little bit.

“Where are we?” Grantaire carefully slipped off the bird that lowered itself to the ground to make it easier. “Thank you,” he said and it only made an acknowledging clicking sound with its beak.

“We are in a cave.” Enjolras answered and well, that explained the darkness. “We are going to stay here for the night. The castle is not far but we are safe here. No other living soul knows of this place.”

Grantaire stretched to relax his tense muscles from sleeping in a half-sitting position and looked around once more. His bird had lied down next to the other two; they had put their heads together and seemed to be trying to recover from the flight. Jehan looked up and smiled at him encouragingly but said nothing. Combeferre was talking quietly to Courfeyrac who was licking his paws.

 

“And what are we going to do this whole time?”

 

Enjolras exchanged a glance with the hatter, then he turned back to Grantaire.

“Come with me. I need to tell you something.”

 

After casting the second lamp a quick glance Grantaire did follow Enjolras out of the cave or further into it, he had no idea, but Enjolras seemed to know where to go even in the darkness. It almost looked like he was glowing himself but once they took a turn to the left everything got lighter steadily but still not as bright as the daylight.

They stopped at the end of the tunnel that was covered by dark green shrubbery which didn’t allow a lot of light to come through but the sky Grantaire was already turning dark blue again.

“How long did we fly?”  
“About five hours,” Enjolras said and ran his hand over leaves and bark in concentration.

“Then why is it getting dark again already?”

Enjolras hand stilled. “The sun that is shining here doesn’t like to look at what this land has turned into. It is weak and setting after only a few hours. The one we have back in the Red Woods stays up much longer.”

 

Obviously there was more than one sun.

And suns had feelings.

 

Nothing is impossible, Grantaire reminded himself as he tried to wrap his head around the new information but gave up again soon. Not worth the head-ache.

Enjolras pulled at a small branch and whispered something Grantaire couldn’t understand. Then the plants started rustling quietly and opened a small gap just big enough for Enjolras to slip trough. Grantaire followed him.

 

When he stepped outside he saw nothing.

A vast, steppe-like plain of nothing.

 

They were standing on a tor that was higher than the rest of the land. The dark blue of the sky turned into a flaming red, orange and yellow at the horizon and Grantaire couldn’t decide if what he saw was beautiful or terrifying or in a compelling mixture both at the same time.

“You are looking the wrong direction,” Enjolras voice broke the silence and Grantaire turned left to look at him but for the first time he couldn’t keep is eyes on Enjolras face for longer but looked past him where the mountains grew higher and higher and lay in the land like a sleeping dragon, sharp, rocky and as wide as he could see. At some point in the distance a gigantic castle seemed to have grown out of stone, not build into it, but as if rivers of rock had flown out of it gracefully before turning ridged again. It was illuminated by the rest of sunlight and stood out stark against the craters of mountains.

Grantaire tried to make out more details of the building but it was too far away to actually perceive more than curved but never fragile looking towers and arches. Around the castle, partly up the mountainside and copiously into the wide plain there was a black, netlike growing of what had to be a plants that weren’t trees but some sort of really high bushes.

The longest branch was probably only about half a mile away and Grantaire tried to concentrate more on what it was exactly that he saw, when he suddenly realized it.

 

Roses.

Green leafs and black roses, not growing in a random, natural pattern but an endless labyrinth of leaves and thorns and darkness.

 

“The roses, I remembered the roses. They were…”

“I know.” Enjolras didn’t look at Grantaire, his gaze was fixed at what had once been green, flowering land. Grantaire remembered the gardens and the birds, the small ones, and the sun.

He could hear his own anger and indignation in Enjolras’ voice.

“My brother always loved them.”

Grantaire swallowed not knowing what to say so his mouth spat out he first thing his brain came up with. “I hope you have a hell of plan how to get in there because I really want to kick that guy’s ass.”

Enjolras raised a perfect eyebrow but there was something like a sad smile tugging up the right corner of his mouth. It disappeared quickly and his face turned serious again.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because you want me to defeat an evil king and bring back happiness and joy?” Grantaire suggested more sarcastically than he felt. He actually felt much bitterer and, to his own surprise, angry.

Enjolras frown deepened. “That’s not what I meant. Do you know why _you_ are here?”

Grantaire could only suppress a snort with difficulty.

If he knew that things might have been a lot less complicated.

“Why?” he asked instead hoping that whatever Enjolras was about to say would somehow make him believe he could actually do what was expected of him.

“Destiny.”

 

“You got to be kidding me.”

“No,” Enjolras simply said.

“Really? That’s your reason for all of this?”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire only stared at him and the other man sighed.

“Alright,” he started, “A few years ago a young boy suddenly shows up and no one knows who he is. The queen had just died and everyone is mourning but this boy that no one has ever seen before isn’t frightened or running away. Instead he laughs in a land where people aren’t laughing anymore but when he does, they join and he sings and he has this wonder in his eyes, this excitement over a place that is beautiful. And he is _painting_ roses and he makes people smile and see all the wonderful things anew through the eyes of this boy.

When someone asks him where he comes from he simply shrugs and mentions a place called Paris. He says he just followed a rabbit. The rabbit is very confused because he remembers a weird place he went to but has never heard of a place called Paris. No one has ever heard of a place called Paris but no one is concerned because the boy says that his parents don’t worry about him. But then, only a few days later, he would disappear again as suddenly as he came. People were smiling again instead of weeping.”  
The point was that Grantaire remembered. He remembered a door, not how he had found it or where or why. He just remembered the door and when he had gone through it, everything had been back to normal.

“Jehan didn’t tell me. He told me what happened to you.” He left out the ‘and your brother’ but he could see a shadow passing over Enjolras face. “But he didn’t mention me.”

“Would you’ve believed him?”

Grantaire bit down onto his lip. “No. No, I probably wouldn’t have.”

Enjolras nodded again. A silent gesture that showed he had expected nothing else. “You have to know that you gave a lot of people back our world and happiness when we needed it. And still it is a tragedy because when they look back most of them only see what happened to the ones who did not recover because we are obviously living in a society where only a few decide over what happens to the people of a whole world.” Enjolras words were now filled with bitterness and Grantaire remembered how he had told him back at the castle in the trees that he firmly believed the time of kings should be over.

It had only been a day before.

“For some time it was alright. We were alright. Not perfect but it was enough. You know the story of what happened. Then my uncle makes himself king, land is buried in chaos and in despair and a new page of the Book appears showing just one moment from a single day in the future. And Feuillys’ only words are, ‘The Black King will be defeated. Find R.’”

Grantaire snorted before he could help it. “Well, it took you a while.” He wished the words back as soon as they’d left his mouth.

To his surprise Enjolras smiled contently as if he had said just the right thing. “Exactly. See if you were just a boy who miraculously came to our land and then out of all the ones who were looking for you for _years_ Combeferre had found you first instead of some other R out there, that would not have been destiny. That could have also been a line of weird coincidences. But it _wasn’t_ because you are the _only_ one who is able to actually come here.” The firmness and conviction not only in Enjolras voice and also the way he was looking at him took Grantaire aback.

And he didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”  
“See, most believe that you world and ours are like –” Enjolras paused searching for the right words, “like two countries connected by some sort of secret passageways that no one has really found yet. So they are next to each other or one is higher or lower, it doesn’t matter but they both exist just like that. If that was the case wouldn’t you think that in years of searching someone would have found a way to your land? Especially if Combeferre had already been there once before?”

“I guess so.” Grantaire answered when Enjolras looked at him waiting for an answer. Contently the other man continued. “The reason why he hasn’t or no one has is that there are no secret passageways that exist. A few of us, including Combeferre, Jehan and me, we have been developing a theory over the last years. We think that our worlds, your and ours, aren’t existing independent of one another but linked in certain aspects, like our world is a distorted image of yours rather than a completely different one and the other way around.”

Grantaire frowned. “You mean like parallel universes?” The thought was absurd but Enjolras nodded.

“It would explain why we can’t make a connection whenever we want it and it only appear what first seemed randomly. Only that it isn’t just randomly because there are three constants every time it happens. A rabbit, a child and our world in need of someone to change it for the better.”

“How do you know that? Is there somebody else who came here from, well, my world?`”

“There are some records from about one and half century ago, maybe a bit more, about a similar occurrence, not with the exact same circumstances we have now of course.”

“Let me guess,” Grantaire snorted, “her name was Alice?”

Enjolras seemed confused and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I am actually quite sure about reading that his name was Lewis.”

“Huh.” Grantaire blinked, then shrugged. “Yeah, that actually makes sense.”

Enjolras frowned and regarded him sceptically for a moment but then he took up the actual thread of the conversation again. “So, Combeferre was only able to find you because three days before the Judgement day a crossing opened for him. Courfeyrac was with him at that time and he says that a hole in the ground appeared out of nowhere but he wasn’t able to get in, not even invisible. Only Combeferre could go through and it leads him to none other than you. He didn’t even have to look for you, you were there. That is why he is convinced that you are the right R when the others weren’t. Why Jehan is convinced you are the right R.”

“But _you_ said you don’t care if I am the right R.”

“Because I don’t,” Enjolras said. “Because that is not the question. There is no question here. You’re not the right R and not the wrong, you are the _only_ R. I also told you that I don’t care if you’re supposed to save this land; you are only supposed to be _here_ to do what no one else can because you are _unique._ You are not only unique like every living being is, you are more than that, _you_ are unique in both of our worlds. And maybe there are more than two, three, four, five, we don’t know. But if we imagine our world sort of like the two sides of a mirror than each one of us is reflected somehow and there can’t be two of us on the same side at the same time. Only the ones who are simply unique can be one both sides if the time calls for it. And that _you_ are this one person, that isn’t a coincidence. _That_ is destiny.”

“So…,” Grantaire started much more calmly than he felt. It didn’t last long. “You’re telling me that I and a _rabbit_ , a talking rabbit with a waistcoat and damn pocket watch, are the only ones who can pass suddenly appearing crossing between two parallel universes when one of them has to be saved.”

“That is essentially it, yes. Even though I don’t understand why Combeferre’s speaking abilities or clothing decisions are of any importance.”

 

Grantaire stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“I, I don’t even know how to response to that.”

 

Enjolras smile didn’t help the dizziness in Grantaire’s head or the confusion.

“I told you this,” the other man said, “because I don’t want to leave anything out. I want you to know everything that could help you or make it easier any kind of way.”

“Yeah, because the thought of parallel universes makes things a lot less complicated,” Grantaire remarked but he decided on laughing instead of, well, freaking out even more when he actually tried to make sense of things that he had thought were impossible only a few days ago. “You know what? It doesn’t actually matter because you said it, I am here even if it was just a coincidence or if it’s destiny. You said I am the best option you have and I decided to do what I can. I can’t promise I’ll be able to kill a person or-“

Enjolras interrupted him. “We are not going to kill my uncle.”

Grantaire blinked at him. It had been the thought he had steadily pushed back from his mind but always knowing there would come a point when he had to think about it.

“What?”

“We are not going to kill my uncle,” Enjolras repeated.

“Well, that’s … a good thing but isn’t everyone expecting exactly that?”

Enjolras’ eyes brightened and from one moment to another he looked determined in a way that would have made Grantaire fear for his life if it had been about him.

“They expect you to _defeat_ the Black King but no one should simply have the power to end a life no matter what has been done.”

 

Grantaire found himself smiling. “And here I thought you couldn’t surprise me anymore.”

 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow sceptically.

“That’s good,” he hurried to add, “That’s a good thing, I mean you’re… good.” He could feel himself blushing and great, that was exactly what he needed at the moment. He also didn’t need the amused glint in Enjolras’ eyes as he opened his mouth to say something but suddenly a shadow shot over their heads in rapid velocity and both of them startled.

Grantaire stepped back but Enjolras only tensed and didn’t move. He stayed where he was when the shadow that turned out to be a big, dark brown bird, glided through the air and into the valley.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire hissed. “It will see us!”

“It can’t see us.”

“What?”

“It can’t see us.” His voice sounded tightly. “No one can see this place from the outside; it is a blind spot that can only be entered if you know the way inside, like the land of the fairies or the castle in the trees. My brother found it. I don’t know how but he let me in when I followed him once.” Enjolras spoke hurried, his eyes fixed onto the bird in the distance, then he turned around sharply.

“We have to go back in.”  
“I thought it can’t see us.”

“It can’t.”

He grabbed Grantaire’s arm with his left hand and murmured something at the plants that opened for them. His grip was firm and his lips pressed tightly together. Grantaire realized that for the first time he did not only look worried but incredibly alarmed.

It sent a cold shiver down his spin.  
“What’s wrong then?”

They took the turn around the corner and into the cave where Jehan, Courfeyrac and Combeferre sat on the ground next to three sleeping birds.

Enjolras swallowed and the grip and inhaled sharply.

“There was a bird,” he said loudly and the others looked up. “No one has ever sighted a bird in this part of the land since my uncle burned down the tower.”

They were on their feet almost immediately. Courfeyrac shot in the air like a bouncing ball, his turquoise tail whipping through the air.

“They can’t be working for him,” Combeferre said and his nose twitched nervously.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras shook his head. He didn’t let go of Grantaire’s wrist. “But if they do, or he found a way to force them somehow, we have no chance to get anywhere near the castle, let alone inside.”

“Wait, that was your awesome plan?” He couldn’t have heard that right. “Your plan was to simply fly inside a goddamn fortress like hey, we just came over to defeat a mad, evil king, don’t mind us. You got to be kidding me!”

Enjolras shook his head and was about to say something but he couldn’t even start.

“You little hero here has a point” a new voice chimed in lazily.

Jehan turned around and pulled a dagger from his sleeve in a swift movement. Enjolras froze but he didn’t let go of Grantaire’s wrist. He had no idea what to do when a figure stepped out of the shadows that were the other end of the cave, the end that wasn’t supposed to have an entrance.

 

He was tall and his cheekbones were sharp like knives in the shallow light of the lamps.

 

“Regardless how, they would fetch you from the sky like a second gear meal for their feast.”

His voice was cold and his eyes so dark that Grantaire couldn’t tell the difference of iris and pupil, just as black as his hair.

When he took another step forward Jehan pointed the dagger at him with trembling fingers.  

The man – or was it a boy? – raised his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender, his laugh made the hairs stand up in the back of Grantaire’s neck.

“Please, hatter. As if that would make any difference.” His voice didn’t loose the lazy, almost bored tone but he didn’t pay attention to Jehan, his eyes were fixed at Enjolras.

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras who, even in the dim light, seemed pale as a sheet.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His lower lip trembled. 

 

“Parnasse?”

It was more like a whisper, raw and chocked.

 

The other man’s mouth twisted into a lopsided smile and the blood in Grantaire’s veins ran cold.

“Enjolras,” he said, a glimpse of white teeth through full red lips, and then, “You look good for someone who fell of a tower.”

Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ fingers tightening around his wrist.

“You look alive for someone who is dead.”

 

The other man’s smile widened.

“Hello brother.”

 

 

***


	6. A Tale of two Brothers Part I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for being so patient. I have finally finished all my exams and I actually planned on uploading the rest of the story yesterday because I had completely written it already but when I read it once more I somehow I felt like I hadn’t give Montparnasse enough time to explain some things so I thought, hey, I’ll just add some more dialogue here but as it happens ‘a little more’ turned into about three thousand words and I ended up rewriting the whole thing yesterday night until 3 am. Yeah, I didn’t plan on this to happen either but good for you because it means that you get about 5K and a chapter more because I decided to split the last one. And even better, I’ll upload both of them today so no more waiting. Welcome to the grand finale everyone. Enjoy.

***

 

“Wow, what?”

No one seemed to notice Grantaire’s outburst, least of all Enjolras who was standing right next to him, hand still curled tightly around Grantaire’s wrist.

The man’s incredibly dark eyes glanced over at Grantaire quickly, the mocking smile wasn’t faltering the slightest. He bowed his head in what could only have been described as a snide gesture.

“Montparnasse, at your service.”

Before Grantaire could reply anything to that, not that he would have known _what,_ three voices spoke at the same time.

 

“You died.”

 

Jehan, utterly confused had slowly taken down the knife. Combeferre regarded the new arrival sceptically with narrowed eyes. Courfeyrac hovered nervously and unusually silent in the air. Enjolras’s voice was quiet and Grantaire didn’t know if that was how a broken heart sounded or one that was being put back together.

Grantaire didn’t say anything, his head was filled with too many thoughts at once and the emotions changed so quickly he was hardly able to keep track properly. Eventually Enjolras’s hand curled around his wrist brought him back to the initial confusion paired with a hint of concern because Enjolras looked like he was about to faint any second.

The other man was still smiling. Grantaire wouldn’t have believed it to be possible but he was no less beautiful than Enjolras only without his warmth and radiance that seemed to fill every room he entered. The other man seemed almost unearthly, white skin stark against black hair

and red lips that were curled up into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

 

Even when he shrugged at the disbelieving looks his movements seemed graceful.  
“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Enjolras immediately let go of Grantaire and for a second he was sure that he would straight out go for a punch but instead Enjolras crossed the distance with a few long steps and stopped right in front of the other man.

“Don’t you dare say that. Don’t you dare think I didn’t miss you every single day. Don’t you dare.”

At first the other man flinched slightly, probably thinking the same Grantaire did, but then the smile had fell off his face turning his expression blank.

Grantaire felt like an intruder when he heard Enjolras say brokenly. “I thought it was my fault. All this time.”

From the corner of his eye Grantaire saw Jehan stumbling back, sitting down. He ran a hand over his face and Combeferre soothingly patted his arm but his eyes were still fixed on the man - Montparnasse.

 

Grantaire didn’t know how the rabbit could pull it off to look absolutely terrifying but somehow he did. Jehan looked like he was about to cry. Grantaire didn’t know what to do but the sound of Enjolras’s voice made it impossible for him to say something that could have interrupted the moment he already felt like didn’t belong to him.

 

This was Enjolras’ _brother,_ for god’s sake.

The truth was like an actual hit in the guts.

Enjolras had believed him to be dead and gone forever, without a last word, a last look, not even a funeral. Nothing.

Grantaire had a sister himself. A little, wonderful sister he hadn’t thought about for days.  


He immediately felt like throwing up.

He had simply left and what if he didn’t make it back? What if he was the one never coming back without a word of goodbye? If he was the one on the other end, the one left behind without being able to do anything, he would probably… he would…

 

“I couldn’t think of _living_ without you,” Enjolras said. “I wanted to follow you. For weeks, for _months_ , I wanted to die.”

The only change on the man’s face was when the left corner of his mouth twitched slightly, Grantaire didn’t know what that was supposed to mean because he actually had no idea what this man was thinking at all. One moment he laughed, one moment he looked like he was about to murder someone and all the time his face was somehow lacking real emotion, completely shut off.

All Grantaire knew for sure was that he was incredibly terrifying.

Montparnasse let out a quick, sharp breath through his nose. It almost sounded like huffing. “You wouldn’t have done it.”

 

Alright, now Grantaire was pretty sure that the guy was an asshole.

 

Enjolras stepped back like he had been burned and Grantaire couldn’t see his face but his shoulders sagged and his hands started trembling, clenching into fists. He was kind of amazed that Enjolras hadn’t punched the other man yet because honestly, _he_ probably would have. He was actually starting to believe he totally deserved it.

But Enjolras just stared at him. His voice wasn’t wavering anymore. It was suddenly incredibly bitter when he asked, “And how could you have known that?”

Still, not a simple sign of emotion appeared on Montparnasse’s face, only his voice took on the exact same tone as Enjolras’s.

“Because of the same reason I knew you were going to be here today. Because of the same reason I told you to wait for me at the top of that tower. Because of the same reason I _always_ knew I had to die so _you_ could be king one day.”

“What?” Enjolras asked in a mixture of incomprehension and indignation.

In any other situation Grantaire would have had a field day now that Enjolras seemed just as confused as he was.

Nothing in this place could actually make sense in the first moment, could it?

The other man huffed again and honest to god rolled his eyes.

Combeferre unexpectedly broke the tense silence that was hanging in the air like thick fog.

 

“He is a seer,” he said in a very calm and very blank tone. It wasn’t a question.

Parnasse raised an eyebrow. “The rabbit gets it.”

“The rabbit,” Combeferre repeated unimpressed, “ _knew._ ”

Enjolras turned around abruptly, his expression shocked, speechless. His brother seemed to be able to contain his emotions better. His raised eyebrow stayed in place when he asked, “How?”

“Feuilly told me.”

“Did he tell you I was alive as well?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Feuilly _knew_?” Enjolras turned back to the other man, still looking absolutely shocked.

“Please Enjolras, even _I_ wasn’t going to try keeping a secret from that goddamn caterpillar.”  
“But you were keeping it from me,” Enjolras stated and Montparnasse didn’t reply and simply nodded.

 

For a few moments no one said anything. Enjolras actually seemed overwhelmed by the situation. Grantaire hadn’t expected ever seeing him so emotionally out of control but then again, he basically didn’t even know him. It had felt like it to be honest, like they’d already known each other for months, years, maybe even longer but he couldn’t think of anything to make this mess any better for Enjolras because god, what a mess.

He also hadn’t expected that at this point it could have gotten any more of a mess but obviously everything in this land was constructed to always eventually prove him wrong.

 

It wasn’t a dream.

Everything was possible.

People returned from the dead.

Well, not literally.

 

But that wasn’t really the point, the point was, he had once again didn’t know how to handle the whole situation and for once Enjolras didn’t seemed to know how either.

I didn’t came as much as a surprise as the first time when it was Combeferre who spoke first again.  
“Maybe you could tell us why and how you are here from the start, you _majesty._ ”

The formal address made Montparnasse tense immediately and for the first time something like uncertainty flicked over his face.

“I will do so,” he said sharply, “but I am not majesty anymore.”

“You are alive and well,” Combeferre said tonelessly, “I most humbly beg forgiveness for me and my companions for letting out manners slide.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what Combeferre was going for but somehow the anger on Montparnasse’s face was less unsettling than the complete blankness.

“I won’t order you to stop what you are doing, _rabbit_ ,” he practically snarled, “but I am not here to give orders. I am a dead man. I am not here because I want to be reminded of any _position_ of mine.”

“Why are you here then?”

It was Enjolras who asked.

Montparnasse looked at him and seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes quickly darting at the other ones in the cave. Grantaire felt a shiver going down his spine when the gaze of those black eyes passed his face but he for sure wasn’t going to let it show.

Enjolras noticed Montparnasse reluctance and straightened his back almost challenging. “They can hear everything you have to say.” The stubbornness in his voice made him sound so much like the Enjolras Grantaire had met again. “I trust them. I do not intend to keep anything from them.”

Montparnasse didn’t address the unspoken but clearly indicated ‘unlike you’ and nodded again.

“It is going to take a bit time.”

“We weren’t planning on leaving until daybreak. I suppose we can spare it.” 

It was somewhat reassuring to find Enjolras returning somewhat to his high held self even though it felt a little bit like a facade.

Grantaire wasn’t sure if he tried to convince them, his brother or himself.

Maybe it was all three.

 

“Alright,” Montparnasse announced, drawing out the word like a long suffering sigh. He gracefully stepped forward and sat down a few feet away from Jehan who hadn’t said another word so far. He simply regarded the other man with a look of sheer disbelief, wide eyed and confused. Courfeyrac silently appeared next to him.

Montparnasse folded his legs and didn’t seem to care about sitting on the hard ground of the cave. He simply resumed an upright posture in sitting position and for a moment the flickering light of the lamp made him look like a motionless stature. Then he tilted his head.  
“Do you want to stand there the whole time gawking like that?”

It took Grantaire a second to realize he was addressing him. The ridiculous half-smile on the other man’s face now directed at him suddenly made him feel incredibly annoyed. No, not annoyed. Angry.

“You know what,” he started and somewhere his brain said that what he was going to say wasn’t a good idea but to hell with it, “I haven’t been around here for long and there are tons of things I have no clue about but at least someone tries to explain them to me from time to time. So you’re obviously some crown prince returned from the dead for whatever reason in the very last second but instead of telling us why you’re here all you did until this point is playing drama queen so I won’t excuse for staring at you because I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Actually, you should maybe start with a goddamn apology because what I picked up so far really makes me want to punch you in the face.”

Grantaire knew that everyone was now staring at him but he only quickly glanced at Enjolras who seemed completely dumbfounded but not necessarily angry before he turned back to Montparnasse.  
And yes, Grantaire might have just insulted some terrifying prince or whatever who looked like he would be able and probably not declined to kill him in his sleep but he actually didn’t care much.

It was the truth.

Montparnasse didn’t reply at first.

From what he had heard the last few minutes Grantaire would have expected him to stare him down adding a downright scornful comment. But instead he actually slumped a little and sighed again, more audible. It didn’t sound as sharp when he said, “Maybe you should take his manners as an example, rabbit.”

Combeferre simply scoffed and it somehow eased the tension that was lingering in the air. Eventually Montparnasse looked back at Enjolras. “I did what I had to. I don’t owe you an apology for that. But I won’t lie to you and tell you I wouldn’t have done the same even if knew I didn’t have to. I never once pretended not to be a selfish person.”

“That is the worst apology I have ever heard.”

“I know. I…”   He seemed about to say more but stopped, “I know.”

Enjolras frowned. A few golden curls fell into his eyes. “You’re a seer. Did you know I was going to say that?”

Montparnasse shook his head nonplussed. “That’s not how it works. I don’t have a crystal ball that shows me some day in the future if I ask it to.”

“Wait, that’s an actual thing people do here?” Grantaire asked disbelievingly and Montparnasse looked back at him raising an eyebrow and well, there was the part with the staring him down.

“Some do,” Jehan answered as Montparnasse didn’t reply. His voice sounded slightly choked but he seemed to have regained some composure. “The crystal balls are pointing the way ahead but there is just too much smoke inside to look through. Some have the ability to defog certain days or hours if they asked but only with a lot of strain.”

“They are not actual seers, they are more like force fields,” Combeferre added and Grantaire was incredibly glad that they were really trying to explain one or another thing; it was a quite welcome surprise for once.

Slowly Enjolras had sat down next to Grantaire opposite of Montparnasse who was starring at a point on the ground.  
“I have visions,” he eventually stepped in, “Sometimes minutes, sometimes seconds,” he said and Grantaire saw Enjolras biting down onto his lower lip as Montparnasse talked. He looked like he had to give everything not to interrupt, not to stand up and shake his brother or embrace him once more but to let him talk. The big effort taken was clearly visible in his face but Montparnasse still didn’t look up.

It almost had something mechanical when he talked.

Grantaire tried not to wander when he had actually talked to someone else because he could have been hiding all these years. He probably had to hide all these years because one would definitely recognize a prince especially if he looked like Montparnasse or Enjolras. Grantaire could imagine him blend in with the shadows, unlike Enjolras, but as soon as someone had taken a closer look it would have been obvious that something about him didn’t fit.

“I don’t know exactly when what I see is going to happen,” Montparnasse continued stiffly, “It is obvious when the day comes from how old someone looks or what they wear, the weather. I can’t control what I see or when I see it. I can’t control _anything_ I see. I can only make plans of what I can do _after_ it happens. I can think a lot about the _after._ ” He clenched his jaw and the movement was so similar to Enjolras’s that it hit Grantaire once more that it was his older, _dead_ brother sitting there. The brother Enjolras had run back into a burning and crumbling tower for.

“How did you know?” Enjolras asked and his voice was calm but Grantaire saw his hands trembling. In a moment of boldness and probably thoughtlessness as well he reached out and took Enjolras left hand in his own. He didn’t move away and Enjolras didn’t flinch.

He didn’t look at him but a barely notable nod said a silent thank you.

 

Grantaire heart skipped a beat at the sight of their intertwined fingers.

 

Montparnasse looked up but didn’t even acknowledged anyone or anything but Enjolras.

“The first time I had a vision I thought it was a dream. Thought it was a dream returning every fortnight, for years. And then it happened just like I had _dreamed_ it and I knew. I knew it wasn’t just that. After that the visions only started to get more frequent and by then I knew what they were, I knew that whatever I saw was inevitably going to happen.” He dropped his gaze back to the floor.

“What did you see?”  Enjolras asked quietly and Grantaire couldn’t shake the feeling he already knew the answer and this was why he looked like all he wanted to do was cross the distance between him and his brother again. “The first vision you had?”

This time Montparnasse didn’t hesitate but his answer sounded distant, indifferent as if he it wasn’t himself he was talking about.

“I saw you crying at our mother’s bed, by her side when she was already gone.”

“How old were you?”

“Five.”

Enjolras looked shocked. “She died when we were twelve.”

“She did.”

“You knew for _seven_ years.”

“I never knew,” Montparnasse said sharply and shook his head just a little, “I never for once knew until the moment came. I spent seven years praying it wasn’t true.”

“You could have told me.”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to voice it, make it real. I couldn’t bare it.”

“After,” Enjolras insisted distressed, “You could have told me after.”

“No, I couldn’t. You would have asked what I saw and I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why?” Enjolras voice had become louder and his fingers tightened their grip around Grantaire’s. He sounded desperate and for the first time Grantaire could here the same edge of desperation as Montparnasse spoke.

“Because you would have tried to stop things from happening and they can’t be stopped. It is not possible and I know you, I know you would have tried and I couldn’t let that happen. It would have ended the same, it will end the same and I won’t let you fight a hopeless battle. I’m your brother.” His hands were clenched into fists and he looked ready to stab someone the very next second. Enjolras wasn’t better and Grantaire almost feared for his hand that was squeezed so tightly in Enjolras’s grip that it hurt.

Enjolras didn’t even seem to notice.

“You didn’t even try. You didn’t even try to make me understand.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“How can you know? What did you see that could have possible been so terrible that I wouldn’t have listened to you?”

The whole time during their exchange Montparnasse had looked at the ground but suddenly his head snapped up and he looked at Enjolras.

His eyes were burning black.

“Death.”

“Whose death?”

“Mine.”

It was like someone had pulled a plug as Enjolras’s anger vanished within heartbeats. Montparnasse didn’t wait for him to say something.

“I had a vision only a few weeks after our mother’s death. I saw you in the great hall of the east wing. I was up somewhere and I looked down at you and in your hands was our father’s crown and you know how I felt this very first moment? I was relieved. I was so endlessly relived because you had what should have always been yours. I was never meant to be king.”

“Don’t,” Enjolras shook his head but the hard, cold smile returned to Montparnasse face and made him stop. 

“It’s true,” he said, “I never wanted to be king.”

“You know that I don’t want to be king either.”

“But you would be a _good_ king Enjolras, a great king. You don’t want to be king because you want the people to live their lives and decide what they want, you care. You are an angel that I never was. I never wanted to be. From the first day I remember everyone told me I was going to be a king, a leader. And all I ever wanted to do from that very first day was to run as far as I could. All the rules, all the expectations, all those creatures who look at you like you’re the one to change their life. I looked at them and I didn’t see their suffering, their problems, only what they had what I didn’t and I _envied_ them.”

All the while Montparnasse talked his eyes never left Enjolras’s.

It was like a levee had broken and finally he was telling what happened, finally he let go and really _talked_ without restraint, just the hard, needed truth.

Grantaire saw how everyone stared at him as he talked, not able to look away. His charisma was so different from Enjolras’s but in a way the same that no one dared to interrupt him. 

“All I ever wanted was a good life, nothing left to wish for, accountable to no one. Free. So when I saw you with that crown that I hated, I hated so abysmally, I was relieved.

But then you started talking. I heard you saying one thing.

“My brother is dead” and people started calling “Long live the king”.

It lasted only seconds. I was twelve and I knew I would die before you were older than twenty. Believe me, I surely didn’t want to. But then I realized it was the only possibility for me to get rid of everything thy tried to make me do, make me be.

You’re only really free when you’re dead. So I had to die. You would become king like you were destined to be and I would get what I wanted. It would have been easy.

I had a vision of the fire in the tower and the birds flying to the top so I knew where I had to send you to keep you alive. I made a plan to escape. I was going to be dead, you were going to be saved, the tower would be gone and by the day father would die you were going to become king.

It turned out I was wrong. I had only taken into account what I had seen. I didn’t even think there was something else to it until father died. I thought I knew the day of the fire because _I_ was going to be the one who set it. I honestly believed that. But I hadn’t expected him to die before that. I couldn’t sleep that night and knew what would happen the second I looked out of the window because I had seen the same moon before.

Remember how I told you to go up to the top because you couldn’t sleep either and I said the night was so much more beautiful than the day we had? And you went up and I went down and they set the tower on fire and it happened just like I had seen it. Only that I knew you wouldn’t have a simple life with our father in the castle.

I wished that for you to happen, I truly did. I knew you were still going to have that crown in your hands, these people around you who loved you because I had seen it, I still see it, every day. I knew that night, that it wasn’t going to be like I hoped but I knew you were going to live to be what you were born for and I wasn’t. I always believed you would be even if I hadn’t seen it. I died because I never wanted anything more but to get rid of all that and live my own life.

I would have done it anyway even if I hadn’t known I had to do so you could become one day who you were meant to be and who the ones living in this land needed. For the first time in my life I knew what freedom felt like and it was _everything_. I left knowing someday everything would go its destined way.”

 

Enjolras let go of Grantaire’s hand. When Grantaire looked at him there were no tears in his eyes, no anger, no hate, no disappointment. He didn’t look confused anymore, not vulnerable anymore. He didn’t look like a boy.

 

“You left me behind for a vision.”

“I left you to your destiny,” Montparnasse replied calmly.

“You left me for your freedom.”

 

“Yes.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

 

“I understand” Enjolras said still calmly and Grantaire couldn’t help but stare at him, stare at him because _he_ couldn’t understand how on earth he seemed to _understand_ and accept his brother’s actions with a greatness and maturity of soul that left Grantaire more speechless than anything Montparnasse had said.

“You didn’t need to be here then. Why did you come?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was destiny?”

“I would.” Enjolras replied, “But I can only speak for myself.”

Grantaire glanced at Jehan who seemed conflicted, Courfeyrac and Combeferre looked as if they were about to jump down Montparnasse’s throat and he felt like he didn’t look much different.  
Montparnasse took a single look around. “Well, that’s what I thought.” He sighed. “About a year later I had a vision of our hero here.” He nodded pointedly at Grantaire, “being the one to defeat that fraud of a king.”

“This was your prophecy?” Grantaire asked incredulously and Montparnasse shrugged. “Feuilly is no seer nor am I the only one. It’s not important who has the visions as long as the people who need to are going to hear about them.

Bu I couldn’t exactly walk to the next marketplace and shout it out, could I? So I started looking for Feuilly since he is one who has the Book. All the pictures in the book are visions from different seers, collected to tell the past, the present and the future. When I found him he already knew I was alive but he said he wasn’t going to tell anyone if that was what I really wanted. I did. I had found him to tell him what I saw so he could get the word out of the prophecy, of the hero we needed, the boy who had already saved the land of ours once, so he could be there on that day I had seen. I didn’t think of the name back then, Judgment day, a little bit dramatic I would say.”

Grantaire could hardly suppress a snort at that but Montparnasse either didn’t notice or chose to ignore him.

“I was sure you lot would come here before you made your way into the castle because no one knows this place so I waited. I had the vision of the hero. I knew I was going to have to be there to see it so I had to come here to go with you. I got out of the castle, I know how to get inside without anyone noticing. I am here to keep you from running straight into your end, to keep you safe.” He looked at Enjolras before he turned Grantaire.

“I saw you. I tried to stop visions before. I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to. I am here to help.”

Grantaire looked back into Montparnasse’s dark eyes, so dark, and tried to find a lie in them. He didn’t see anything. He tried to think of anything off-putting and unsettling and well, there was a lot but as questionable Montparnasse decisions had been, or how downright mad he seemed in between, he had always acted following his visions that craved the future into stone.

 

“I believe you,” he eventually said. Enjolras turned to look at him gratefully. His ease made Grantaire feel at least a little bit surer about his decision. Still he added, “But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

 

Montparnasse nodded. “You are not stupid. That is good.”

The statement took Grantaire aback. He hadn’t been expecting something that could actually be considered a compliment.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “I think this question has been settled then.” His face didn’t show if that was a good or a bad thing but he continued just as calm, “I guess we should agree on a plan then.”

 

 

***

 

 

Grantaire could only guess the ceiling of the cave in the dimmed lamplight. The ground was hard and uncomfortable and he couldn’t even think about sleeping and less understand how everyone else’s breathes were so calmly sounding through the quiet.

They had made a plan much less suicidal than anything Enjolras probably had had in mind and he couldn’t help but feel grateful for that.

He still surely didn’t completely trust Montparnasse but it had been obvious how his first goal had been to keep Enjolras as safe as possible. Grantaire didn’t know if he just wanted to make up for, well, faking his death for years but anyway, it was a thing they could agree on.

He had been surprised and then not so much that Enjolras had never once mentioned what had happened to his arm, how he had tried to save his brother and almost died himself.

 

Grantaire might not understand how he did it, but since he had first heard Enjolras talking about his brother, he had known how much he meant to him and he would never do anything to hurt him even if Montparnasse didn’t seem to feel just the same.

So he understood at least _why_ Enjolras hadn’t told him and also why he had covered how hurt he was because despite everything he knew that not even Enjolras could be so acceptant.

No feeling, caring being would be able to simply accept this with a simple nod.

But he wasn’t planning on pushing Enjolras to say or do anything, especially not now when he had repeatedly said how the only thing that mattered now was to defeat the king and free the land from his reign.  

He was ready to put the people first and Grantaire could also agree with Montparnasse on the point that he was going to be a great king, or not exactly king if that’s what he wanted, but a leader, someone who was going to change things for the better.

 

They had agreed that only Montparnasse and Grantaire were going to go inside the castle because Grantaire had a king to defeat and Montparnasse knew the way, so they would be as inconspicuous as possible.

To distract the guards the others would take the birds to the castle, not too close to not risk being shot by arrows but close enough that the look-outs could see through their telescope who was flying the birds. Courfeyrac who was able to change his shape would turn into Enjolras and appear on a different bird every time to cause confusion.

Jehan had remarked that as soon as someone was going to recognize Enjolras, the king would most likely send out most of his guards to stop them from getting into the castle before they realized they weren’t even trying.

Montparnasse replied to Combeferre’s objection that he could also assemble most of the guards to protect himself that the king didn’t trust more than five guards around him at once fearing he wouldn’t be able to hear them conspire around him.

No one asked how he knew.

No one questioned it easier when he simply said he was able to take more than five people at once.

Grantaire only had to see the cold, sharp look of his eyes and believed him. It was at the same time reassuring and the exact opposite. Still it had to be Grantaire to defeat the king. That was the reason he was here after all. Enjolras had insisted again that they weren’t planning on killing the king, that one person shouldn’t decide over another ones faith like that, that they weren’t going to _become_ like their uncle.

Montparnasse had looked like he wanted to object for a moment but then he had nodded and said that Enjolras had always been the wise one of them. Enjolras hadn’t said anything to that.

Once they were in the Coronation Hall, the room where Montparnasse’s vision had taken place, and Grantaire had done what was expected of him, they would give the signal that the king was dead, the bells in the tower of the Coronation Hall had to ring three times.

 

The last time it had happened there had been six chimes. 

Three for Montparnasse, three for Enjolras.

They hadn’t been dead either but it was the sound of change.

 

Grantaire startled when he heard quiet steps coming closer. He sat up just as Enjolras sat down next to him. He held a long wrapped up object in his hands, longer than his arm.

“You should have this,” he whispered barely audible without introduction and held out the object. Grantaire took it and he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised to see it was a sword. The same sword he had seen on the page in Feuilly’s book in his own hands. It wasn’t richly ornamented or anything like that but it seemed strong, elegantly curved and sharp.

“I was my mother’s.”

Grantaire swallowed. “I can’t-”

Enjolras interrupted him. “Yes, you can.”

“I never even held a sword before.”

“You also never flew on a giant bird or saw moving trees, levitating cats or people made half out of glass, did you?”

This almost made Grantaire want to laugh. “No, I certainly haven’t.”

Enjolras raised his left hand carefully and reached out to rest it feather light between Grantaire’s collar bones. He tried not to think about how fast his heart was beating in his chest.

“You have a sword that knows what it has to do. The only thing you need is the courage to draw it.”

“I don’t know what courage is,” Grantaire whispered. He couldn’t have spoken louder if he tried, “If I knew I would have used it so many times. I never did.”

Enjolras eyes were burning even in the barely lit darkness. “I don’t believe you. When I look at you I see a person who is brave and caring and sacrificing. I didn’t see it at first because above all of this I see a person who doesn’t believe in himself but all of it is there, inside you and I am glad I saw it in time, that I wasn’t too late. It’s not too late for you to see it too.”

 

Grantaire swallowed again, his heart now beating so fast that he felt like it would jump out of his chest any second. The lump in his throat made him unable to say anything, a thank you that wouldn’t have been enough because there weren’t any words that could describe what he wanted to say.

So he did the only thing his at the same time empty and bursting mind seemed to consider logical.

 

He leaned forward and closed the distance between them to press his lips against Enjolras’s.

 

The hand on his chest was warm and the lips against his were soft. Enjolras didn’t push him away. Instead he angled his head slightly so their mouths fit together and kissed Grantaire back for a beautiful, endless second before he leaned back again, a small yet sad smile on his lips that made Grantaire’s heart ache.

He lifted his hand and let it rest on Grantaire’s cheek, never looking away.  
“Never say you don’t know what courage is.”

Then he stood up, his movements silent and gracefully and walked back to his blanket next to Montparnasse, laid down again and closed his eyes.

 

 

***


	7. A Tale of two Brothers Part II.

 

 

***

 

“You never told me about the second entrance,” Enjolras said when Grantaire and Montparnasse got ready to leave early the next morning. Grantaire fidgeted with the laces that were supposed to keep the sheath for the sword on his belt until Jehan helped him.

Montparnasse shrugged. “Be glad I even showed you one,” he said teasingly but not vicious.

There was almost a smile on Enjolras’s face.

Grantaire tried not to stare at his lips too obviously. Jehan lightly punched his arm. Alright, so maybe that didn’t work out.

He tried to remind himself that there was no time for any of this, of course not, with an evil king to defeat and all that jazz and he immediately felt guilty when Enjolras’s expression turned completely serious again. He almost wished Jehan had punched him a little bit higher to recalibrate his brain or something like that so he would be able to focus on what was lying ahead of them.

Montparnasse suddenly looked equally stern as Enjolras.

Obviously the moments for pretending everything was normal had come to an end.  


“You leave in two hours. Not one minute earlier.”

“We won’t,” Enjolras said calmly.

Montparnasse nodded after a second, looked like he was about to say something else but then he wordlessly stepped forwards and pulled Enjolras into a short, one-armed hug that seemed more forced than heart-felt but Enjolras still leaned into it for as long as it lasted. Then the other man turned around to leave ignoring everyone else.

Grantaire felt Jehan’s hand gently on his arm. The hatter’s eyes were big and soft. “We will be there,” he said. Combeferre and Courfeyrac didn’t need to say more. Their looks of hope and determination were enough to make Grantaire swallow hard. “Thank you.”

He didn’t know if he would be able to bare the sight of Enjolras looking at him but he didn’t have to think about it because Enjolras made the decision for him when he stepped forward, tilted up Grantaire’s chin with two fingers and pressed a feather light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

“Go. We will be there.”

 

And there was so much Grantaire wanted to say and nothing he could because it would have sounded too much like a goodbye. So he only nodded and these were the last words spoken before he followed Montparnasse this time, hoping Enjolras would know anyway. From the same sad smile on his face when Grantaire turned around once more he knew he did.

 

 

***  


 

The first meters the tunnel they went through weren’t actually wide enough for a sane person to call it that. It was more like a gap in solid stone just big enough so a human could pass it sidewards.

Grantaire was incredibly grateful he was still a lanky, slightly bony teenager somehow whose weight hadn’t caught up with the growth spurt.

Fortunately the tunnel soon widened enough so they could walk comfortably even though it was dark as the night around them, maybe even darker because without a moon or stars the only light came from the lamp Montparnasse held in his hand as he walked ahead of Grantaire.

 

They stayed silent for a long time, he didn’t know how long because he lost track of time pretty quickly when they were simply walking and walking without being able to look ahead or back and not knowing where they went.

 

It was Montparnasse who eventually broke the silence.

 

“You don’t like me.” It didn’t sound offended, simply a statement, not even a question.  
“You didn’t give me a reason to like you.” Pretending seemed pretty unnecessary.

“Did I give you a reason to dislike me?” he asked casually as if this was his idea of small talk.

Grantaire snorted. “All I knew about you was that you were dead. Turned out you weren’t. So I now know that you faked your death and your reasons don’t exactly make you look incredibly admirable.”

“I always wanted the best for Enjolras.”

He didn’t know what it was that Montparnasse wanted, a pat on the back, understanding or a punch in the face after all so Grantaire settled on honesty.

“For me it looks like you really just wanted the best for yourself.”

The other man didn’t stop in his steps when he answered.

“That too.”

He didn’t say more and Grantaire didn’t ask him to so they stayed silent for the rest of the walk that ended just as Grantaire’s feet had started hurting at a wall of scrub just like the other exit or entrance of the cave only that the light that flooded through the branches and leaves was now the brightness of beginning daylight.

Montparnasse didn’t even say a word and the vines started moving to let them through. When Grantaire saw where they were he almost stumbled back into the tunnel.

 

He looked up and the castle was suddenly so much closer, so much higher and vast and they seemed to be right at the edge of the labyrinth Grantaire and Enjolras had looked at only the evening before.

 

The had to have ended up not at the beginning of the labyrinth but somewhere in the middle because in their back was the stone of the mountain and in the front and all around them were the roses, drops of the darkest red, almost black, between just green just as dark, towering high and higher, forming solid hedges of thorns and leaves and petals.

 

Montparnasse stood in their midst with his lips pressed tightly together and fury in his eyes that were still somehow darker than any of the plants around him. And then a single vine slowly made its way along the ground and started curling around Montparnasse’s ankle and when Grantaire wanted to step forward, warn him because hell, these things looked like they had just jumped out of a nightmare, the other man raised his hand, a simple gesture to make him stop.

When another vine and another and another reached out for him, tangled with his fingers, around his legs, his torso and into his hair Grantaire only stared in horror until he realized that it wasn’t an attack. It was a _caress_ , welcoming and gentle and loving. When the roses retreated slowly there wasn’t a single scratch on Montparnasse’s pale skin.

In the hedge to their left the plants jostled aside and formed another arc. He stepped forward and turned around only when he seemed to realize Grantaire was still standing half inside the tunnel and hadn’t moved at all.

 

“Are you going to stand there all day or do I have to remind you we don’t _have_ all day?”

His sharp tone made Grantaire snap out of his state of baffled disbelief. Yet again something in this world had left him entirely speechless and he wondered if he was ever going to see something completely ordinary, not shocking or confusing or down-right impossible.

Probably not.

He followed Montparnasse and soon realized what exactly they were doing and had to admit the idea was a pretty clever one.  
They were inside the labyrinth but there were also _inside_ the labyrinth, the plants let them pass through them without changing the way they appeared on the outside. They simply opened and closed around them so they could walk through them, not possible to be seen from anyone who was looking at the labyrinth.

And when Enjolras had already been impressively making the trees in the castle in the red forest move effortlessly, it was nothing against how the roses reacted to Montparnasse. He didn’t need to say anything, he didn’t even need look. He simply walked and the roses moved around him, always reaching out to him with small vines that softly skimmed over his arms, along his cheeks when he passed them.  
And he looked like he belonged right there, nowhere else, in between all the dark, thorny flowers with his back turned to Grantaire, wavy black hair and pale skin like the patches of light that fell through the leaves and it somehow made Grantaire understand what Jehan meant the first time he heard the tale of the two brother, how they were so similar, yet so different because Enjolras shone as bright as the sun, all white and gold, power and principles and Montparnasse wasn’t less radiant, less charismatic just darker, a lot more darker.

 

“This is how you got out of the castle right?”

“Yes,” Montparnasse answered and that was that.

 

They didn’t speak and Grantaire concentrated on the way the hilt of Enjolras’ – _his_ – sword felt in his hand, reassuring, how his feet took one step after another, quickly, and the absence of the warmth of sun that hadn’t risen over the mountains yet, cold. He tried not to think, not to let the worries wash over him, of how he was going to fight someone he had never met. He tried not to think about how the only reassurance of his victory came from the vision of a man he barely trusted, only because he had to and because Enjolras did.

 

They walked.

And they walked further until they stopped.

 

In front of them was a wall. Not a wall of roses but a wall of solid, grey stone and Grantaire knew they had reached the castle, they were standing right in front of it and it had been easy, it had been so incredibly easy until now that he couldn’t quite believe it.

Montparnasse didn’t move and the roses didn’t move as well. He seemed to wait for something and just as Grantaire was about to ask what it was they were waiting for a long, drawn-out sound of a horn ripped through the silent morning and he didn’t have to ask to know it was a signal that Enjolras and the others had been sighted.

The other man turned around to Grantaire and gripped his wrist with slender, strong fingers. “As soon as I will stop touching the roses they will try to drag you down again and they will rip you in into pieces. You _musn’t_ let go of my hand, do you understand?”

So nightmare-roses after all.

Grantaire simply gripped Montparnasse’s wrist in return.

The other man nodded and then it was similar to how Jehan had been lifted up inside the tree only that this time Grantaire wasn’t small and had a hat to hold onto.

The tendrils didn’t curl around his hand like he expected either but around his feet and pushed them up, growing in headspinning speed, he couldn’t even be scared by how they were suddenly out in the open, being shoved up at the side of a gigantic grey tower, the castle piling up above them with its arches and bridges that were even more incredible from a close up. The sight of nothing but the dark green vines keeping them from falling into the abyss made him dizzy and the sight of the black labyrinth at their feet curling into the vast landscape blurred in front of his eyes when he saw a bird in the distance.

 

It was cold, cold inside from barely restrained panic, cold outside because the wind ripped at his clothes and his hair and Montparnasse’s hand was cold around his wrist.

 

And then the roses slowed down and they were dozens of feet into the air and also next to what was probably the lowest window in the whole castle and with a motion quicker than Grantaire could follow Montparnasse had drawn a knife and crashed it handle-first through the pane of glass, miraculously not slicing up his own hand.

He reached trough the whole and opened the window from the inside, the knife disappeared somewhere behind his back and then the hand not curled around Grantaire’s wrist gripped the window frame. As soon as his second foot stepped onto the window still and Grantaire tried to follow him he felt the vines around his ankles tighten and then pulling _down._

He didn’t scream because the air was ripped from his lungs in the second of panic as he fell in the blink of an eye before Montparnasse reacted and held onto his wrist with a vice-like grip and pulled in the opposite direction, looking not at Grantaire but the roses and all sudden there was nothing more pulling him down but gravity and with a single, strong pull Montparnasse jerked him up, Grantaire’s feet found solid ground again and they all but tumbled through the window and inside.

 

Grantaire tried to breathe normally again but he was still too caught up in realizing that he had been about to fall – and not through a rabbit hole this time –, about to _die_.

 

“Fuck,” he heard his own voice, ragged, breathless but Montparnasse was already on his feet because someone opened the door. A man in light armour, visor of his helmet opened, looked confused for a moment before his eyes settled on Grantaire lying on the floor.

Before he could reach for his sword Montparnasse had grabbed his arm with one hand, his head with the other and yanked it down, crashing his knee right under the guard’s chin. The man sacked and Montparnasse used the opportunity land another punch right in the neck with the handle of the knife he had pulled out again.

 

It didn’t take more than two seconds and the guard dropped to the floor unconscious.

 

Montparnasse quickly dragged him forward to close the door. Only moments later other people ran past it, metallic clanking of armour passing without stopping.

Grantaire stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Montparnasse took the key from the keyhole and shot him one of those downright disdainful looks but answered nonetheless, “I stopped him from calling an army of other guards that would have stopped me before I even so much as sat a foot out of this room.”

Grantaire scrambled to his feet, still breathing too fast, heart beating too fast and realized what exactly Montparnasse had said. “Stopped _you_?”

The other man sighed. “Don’t take it personal. If I wanted to kill you I would have left you by the roses.”

And before Grantaire could react the handle of Montparnasse’s knife collided with his temple and the world went black.

 

 

***

 

 

“Grantaire, Grantaire, wake up!”

Someone was shaking his shoulders, the voice calling Grantaire’s name sounded slightly muffled and oh god, his head _hurt_. Suddenly he felt the stab of something pointed on his neck and he jolted up.  
“What the –” The words died in his mouth when he saw Enjolras and Jehan looking at him with concerned faces. Jehan tucked a needle back onto his hat.

The pain had actually stopped.

“Are you alright?” Enjolras asked and Grantaire stared at him. As soon as he realized they were really _there_ , his confusion snapped into anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Enjolras expression turned cold in the blink of an eye. “Parnasse lied.”

“Yeah, I figured that when he punched me in the face! That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here! You’re not supposed to be here.” 

“Well, nothing is like it’s supposed to be!”

Grantaire frantically stood up again, Jehan and Enjolras did too.

“How did you even get in here?”

Maybe there was a way to get them out again before things could turn even more to shit then they already had, maybe he could try to keep Enjolras here.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered at the same time Jehan answered, “My hat.”

Grantaire looked from one to another, then settled on a disbelieving, “Your hat?”

“It can bring you from one place to another. I haven’t used it in years and it is not really designed for two people or great distances, it’s more like a Hat trick but we had to try, we –“

“You used a fucking hat as a portal when you didn’t even know it was working?”

“We don’t have time for this!” Enjolras snapped. “My brother lied to us. He will try to kill my uncle and I _won’t_ let it happen.”

The raw, fierce determination in Enjolras’ tone made Grantaire stay silent, at least long enough for Jehan to explain, “Courfeyrac followed you as soon as we realized what happened. He found you so we could get you. He, Combeferre and the birds are still in the air, everything continues like we planned it.”

Grantaire pressed his lips together. “You could have died.”

“ _You_ could have died,” Enjolras shot back, “You would have died if Parnasse would have wanted you to. We still would have been too late, _minutes_ , but too late.”

Grantaire swallowed and hell, he was trying to stay mad, he was but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“How do you know he wants to kill you’re uncle.”

“He is my brother. I know him.”

“He took your sword,” Jehan said and Grantaire hadn’t even realized it, too caught up in Enjolras staring back at him with these big, golden and absolutely devastated eyes.

“We won’t need it,” he said and turned to the door, Jehan right behind him, ready to leave. “I will talk to him. He is my brother.” And he sounded at the same time determined and like a drowning man reaching for the last straw of hope.

Grantaire followed him anyway.

 

 

***

 

 

 The castle was silent. The corridors they passed were silent and the rooms they passed were silent. The guards must have been sent outside to defend the castle just as they had thought it would happen but the closer they got to the coronation hall, the more eerie the silence sounded.

Grantaire couldn’t even take in all the details of the architecture and art around him, he was too on edge, feeling vulnerable without a sword, and even worse, not able to defend Enjolras and Jehan even though Jehan didn’t look like he needed protection, he had drawn the pointy dagger again and looked like a hawk around every corner they passed.

Enjolras lead them as best as he could because Jehan had insisted on going first so Enjolras simply told him which turn to take. He didn’t seem happy about it but accepted it nonetheless. Except for his whispered direction they didn’t speak a word.

 

Grantaire still tried to figure out what had happened. Montparnasse had lied, he wanted to kill his uncle, get revenge for what he had done and Enjolras was determined to stop him, to keep his brother from becoming like the imposter, the murderer, the traitor that had destroyed the life of thousands.

He wouldn’t let another person he once had loved fall into darkness.

Only that Grantaire wasn’t sure if it wasn’t already too late for Montparnasse.

Enjolras refused to believe that because he was his brother but Grantaire could be somehow objective and he didn’t have that much hope.

 

He didn’t know what they were actually trying.

 

The first unconsciousness body they found was a young guard with a bleeding nose and cut on his sword hand. Jehan was about to bend to his knee when the silence was ripped by a sudden crash, a chocked scream, another crash and then a laugh that made the blood in Grantaire’s veins run cold.  
It didn’t take a second before they were running, around the last corner and Grantaire slithered to stop.

About ten guards were lying on the ground, non of them moving, bleeding from several cuts but not enough to be live-threatening. The gates to what had to be the coronation hall were wide open, the walls of the stone hall seemed endless and in front of it, on the stairs up to it laid an old, wretched man, cloak hanging open, hands held up and the silver blade resting between his exposed collar bones. The crown had fallen from his head.

Montparnasse’s knuckles were white, holding the sword, with his back turned to them and his black hair absolutely dishevelled from fighting the guards. He didn’t turn around.

The man on the ground let out a choked sob and Grantaire couldn’t help but stare at him, that helpless, defeated man that looked so vacuous and suddenly seemed so unimportant.

 

At the sight of the scene it felt like someone had punched him again, harder this time, right into the gut.

 

Montparnasse had lied. He had lied about the vision. Here it was, the fulfilment of the prophecy. The hero defeating the black king.

 

It had never been him about him. Of course it hadn’t.

 

Grantaire only realized he had spoken his thoughts out loud, he hadn’t even heard it with the blood rushing through his ears, as Enjolras spoke loud and calm.

“There never was a vision.”

This time Montparnasse’s head turned so he could look at Enjolras over his shoulder, eyes only cold and black, nothing more.

“How did you figure it out?”

“Judgement day,” Enjolras said. “You said you never knew when what you see was going to happen. It could have been months from now, you wouldn’t have known when the day was going to come, only when there never was a real vision to begin with.”  


The left corner of Montparnasse’s mouth curled up into half of a smile. “Stupid me.”

 

Grantaire could see Jehan stepping forward first, drawing his dagger, Montparnasse’s eyes flickered sidewards, he spun around and then a silver lining cut through the air, hitting the weapon in Jehan’s hand with overwhelming accuracy and send it slithering over the hall floor. The next knife swept the topper from Jehan’s head. His eyes were wide open, shocked and in a moment of presence of mind Grantaire held back Enjolras with a hand on the other man’s chest when he was about to surge forward.

 

“Don’t come any closer,” Montparnasse said, his voice as cold as ice-water.

Enjolras stayed where he was. “Please Parnasse, don’t do this.”  


The other man turned back to the man lying on the stairs. Grantaire couldn’t help but wonder how small he looked, how old. It didn’t seem like he had been putting up a fight. “And you,” Montparnasse looked down at him, “Are you going to beg as well? Beg for your miserable, pathetic life?”

The man on the ground didn’t move, the blade of the sword now pressing against his throat, but his lips were quivering. Grantaire almost didn’t hear him when he breathed out a single, trembling, “Please.”

Grantaire could feel Enjolras tensing and the look on his face turned from desperation into cold and hard determination.

Grantaire didn’t decide what he did next, he didn’t think about it because if he had every part of his brain would have probably screamed at him to stop. It was an instinct, a reflex more than a reaction when he pushed Enjolras back and surged forward to…

Well, he didn’t know to do what, only that he couldn’t let the man on the floor die and at the same time couldn’t let Montparnasse kill him.

 

For a split second it really _was_ him standing there, not with a sword, not in a castle, not with a man he didn’t know at his feet but still the same and for the first time he understood, he really truly understood why Enjolras had been right, why Montparnasse was doing the wrong thing.

He had imagined it so many times, thinking about ending the pain of reality and life, not only his but his mother’s and sister’s as well. But death and killing wouldn’t make it better. It would only make him more like everything he despised and he realized it the second he saw someone else about to do it.

 

It was probably the worst idea he ever had to try to attack a knife-throwing, emotionally unstable person unarmed and without any plan, and it ended exactly like anyone sane would have been able to predict.

 

Montparnasse spun around and because there obviously wasn’t a knife left to throw, he yanked up the handle of the sword to hit it hard against the side of Grantaire’s head before he could even raise his arms. He only dully registered it when he collided with the floor, or the scream, either Enjolras’ or Jehan’s.

 

“Stay back!” Montparnasse’s voice sounded dully through the pain in his head, he tasted blood in his mouth and barely felt the sharp edge of the blade now pressing against his throat, pressing hard enough to hurt.

“I don’t want to kill him. But I will if you take one step closer.”

 

Grantaire believed him.

 

“Parnasse, you don’t have to do this, you’re not a murderer.”

He could barely understand the words but it was Enjolras voice, raw.

And then Montparnasse’s laugh sounded through the hall, and it was so far from an actual laugh that it replaced the pain in Grantaire’s head with horror and sorrow.

“No one can make me what I already am. I _murdered_ myself.” The pressure of the sword against Grantaire’s throat eased. The angle of the blade shifted.

“I’m giving you your freedom. Take it as my mercy.”

 

Grantaire’s eyes snapped open as the sword disappeared. Time didn’t slow down, he didn’t see the last days passing in front of his eyes during a single second, nor did he thought of the faces of his family, or Enjolras and then Montparnasse was turning, turning _away_ from him. He hadn’t been speaking to Grantaire but the other man laying on the ground, raising his arms, fear in his eyes, as Montparnasse lifted the sword over his head, about to strike and-

 

Grantaire reached out, Montparnasse’s back was turned to him, grabbed his ankle with both hands and pulled.

 

The other man let out a surprised noise, tipped backwards and tried to ease the fall by rolling over but let go of the sword doing so. Grantaire somehow, miraculously, caught it and scrambled up. Montparnasse graciously got back to his feet, pulling another small knife out of his shoe because obviously there _was_ one left and Grantaire had no idea how many of these things he actually had.

Montparnasse remained in a crouched stance, estimating, defensive.

His eyes were black and he was smiling.

“You make not wanting to kill you really difficult for me. Get out of my way.”

Grantaire tried to control his breathing. He gripped the sword with both hands, its tip pointing at the other man. “I won’t.”

Montparnasse eyes narrowed as Grantaire stepped to the side bringing more distance between the panting man on the floor and Montparnasse’s knife.

“And you think you can stop me? You’re not a hero. You’re not even supposed to be here.”

Some part of Grantaire’s brain reminded him to not listen to him, to not let it get to him. It sounded remotely like Enjolras. The rest of his brain was too busy fighting over which urge to follow, fight or run.

 

From the corner of his eyes he saw Jehan and Enjolras stepping closer, Jehan at first trying to shield the other man’s body. Montparnasse’s eyes flickered over to them, and with a quick movement he turned the knife in his hand around, now holding the tip between his fingers, the smile tightening on his face.

At the same time Grantaire let go of the sword with one hand, raising the other desperately hoping it would be enough to stop the others from coming closer, he couldn’t turn around, couldn’t look at them, at Enjolras.

He kept staring at Montparnasse trying to come up with a plan but the only thought in his head was that he couldn’t let them get hurt, let anyone get hurt even though he didn’t know how.

“I can throw this knife,” Montparnasse said calmly, “I’d like to avoid killing you but you’re also making it quite impossible for me right now to kill him,” he nodded at his uncle behind Grantaire, “so I only have one other option. If you don’t move away it won’t be the hat this time. And if one of you moves then as well.” He didn’t have look at Enjolras and Jehan, his eyes were fixed on Grantaire and he was shocked to find them glistening with tears. “What are you going to do? Are you going to let a friend die for a monster? It’s your choice, _boy._ ”

 

It didn’t take him more than a heartbeat to make the decision.

 

The other man’s voice was trembling. “What are you going to do? Who is worth-”

 

Montparnasse was able to block the incoming sword’s thrust with his knife the very last second. His eyes widened in surprise as the impact of the collision made him stumble backwards as the sword in Grantaire’s hands lunged out again, followed by Montparnasse desperate defence that made him loose balance as he tried to avoid the next hit, the third knocked the knife out of his hand and Grantaire felt the sword dragging his hands up with accuracy and strength, pressing against Montparnasse’s bare neck, tilting up his head so Grantaire was able to look into his eyes, open and shocked. He felt the sword, the sword that was fighting to win, itching for the one last strike. It hadn’t taken more than a few seconds, a few movements he hadn’t controlled, he hadn’t planned, he didn’t know he had been able to make.

Grantaire breathed heavily, still trying to figure out what had happened. He had wanted to disarm the man, not to hurt anyone or let anyone die. It had been a simple decision and then the sword had taken over. He remembered Enjolras’s words. The sword knew what to do and he stared down at the weapon as if it wasn’t in his hands.

Every muscle in his body was tensed; he could feel his own heavy breathing, hear his heart beating fast and then Montparnasse’s voice.

 

“Finish it.”

 

Grantaire stared at him. “Why?”

The other man stared back. “He took everything. I failed. I have nothing left. You’d do me a favour.” His voice trembled and lips quivered and Grantaire turned around to see tears shining in Enjolras’s eyes as Jehan weakly dropped his hands from holding him back.

 

Grantaire turned back to Montparnasse and slowly lowered the sword to the ground.

  
“You are convinced you see so much. But you are blind if you think you have nothing left.”

 

The moment he stepped back Enjolras ran forward, wrapped his arms around the other man and didn’t let go and Grantaire saw Montparnasse tensing and then his resistance crumbling. For a moment he went limp in the other man’s arms before the returned the embrace like his life depended on it, trembling, shaking and tears falling freely as Enjolras held him, his arm and side had turned to glass but he didn’t seem to care, whispering a string of, “I’m here, listen to me, I’m here,” and a single, “Thank you,” that wasn’t directed at his brother.

From one second to another Grantaire felt all the tension, all the fear and hopelessness draining from his body and he only managed to stand upright because a strong, slender hand grabbed his arm. Jehan’s eyes were red-rimmed but he was smiling.

“Well done,” he said and for the first time in what felt like ages but had only been a few days Grantaire felt like everything was going to be alright.

 

 

***

 

 

The third time the bell chimed the sound echoed back from the walls of the endless hall. The sun shone through the high windows as it had overcome the tops of the mountains.

The disempowered king lied on the ground unconsciously; Jehan had hit him with the handle of the sword as he had tried to sneak away before he went outside to give them a little bit time before everyone stormed the hall.

They had closed the doors but even Jehan wasn’t going to be able to keep them closed for much longer.

The hushed talk of Enjolras and Montparnasse had ended with the older brother drying his tears, standing up to pick up the crown from the floor and pressing it into Enjolras’s hands.

 

“You’re are leaving,” Enjolras said and Grantaire was glad he had spoken to Montparnasse because he knew what he was going to answer but not how on earth he was supposed to say it.

The dark haired looked down. “I need time. I spend the last years of my life living for nothing but revenge. I thought I was free but I wasn’t. I want to be.”

Enjolras nodded. “We might be different, you and me. But there is one thing we have in common. Both of us, we will always put you first.”

Montparnasse lips tightened but he didn’t object. “Thank you.”

“You’re my brother. There’s nothing to thank me for.”

When Montparnasse didn’t say anything else Enjolras turned to Grantaire and he could feel his heart dropping in his chest. Enjolras looked at him for a moment. “You’re going to leave too.”

He didn’t sound surprised or disappointed, just sad and that was probably worse than anything else.

Grantaire swallowed. “Did I ever tell you I have a sister?” The words tasted like ash on his tongue. He had made a promise. Even though it hurt, it hurt so much, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge that with staying in this land, with Enjolras, with all the people and creatures he had learn to love, he would let down his family, his mother, his sister. He already felt like he had by not even giving them so much as a thought until Montparnasse showed up. The guilt was already adding to the cold hand that was wrapped around his heart.

 

Enjolras shook his head but suddenly a smile appeared on his face and even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Her brother is a hero.”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t defeat the king, or whatever. I only-,“ he stopped because he didn’t know how to finish. He had only done what his instincts had told him to do, what felt right. And he was going to do it again. Nothing more.

What he didn’t expect was Montparnasse to say, “You _did_ defeat a king.”

Enjolras smile widened before he seemed to spot something over Grantaire’s head. He turned around and looked up to the gallery above the door and there was another door, a simple one, wooden between all the stone, that hadn’t been there before.

“I think it’s time for you to go.”

“I...”

The words got stuck in Grantaire’s throat as Enjolras looked at him with big golden eyes and raised a hand to softly touch his cheek. “I know. Me too. Now go.”

He could only bring his feet to move when Montparnasse grabbed his arm. At first he flinched but then he let himself be dragged to the small staircase that lead up to the gallery that was probably usually used for instrumentalists or whatever, he didn’t care.

He couldn’t look away from Enjolras who stood in the hall with his golden hair, his white clothes in the light of the sun shining through the windows, the crown in his hands.  

 

He smiled up at them with tears in his eyes and a bright smile that Grantaire tried to mesmerize while he felt himself tearing up as well.

 

“Remember what I told you about our worlds?” Enjolras called from down below and then the doors opened and people flowed into the room, guards and servants, Jehan first and voices and crying and laughter filled the hall with sounds.

Montparnasse ducked behind the railing and dragged Grantaire down with him.

He stared at the door only a few feet away from him.

 

“Why do you leave?”

Montparnasse didn’t hesitate. “I just want to be able to be free for once in my life.”

“Is it that simple?”

“Freedom is never simple. It’s different for each one of us. If you don’t have courage you only have to be selfish. I suppose it’s easier if you can.”

Grantaire breathed out, the door was still there, almost like it was patiently waiting for him.

“I never had the courage.”

“But now you have?”

The voices got louder and Montparnasse carefully looked over the railing and down. Grantaire crouched next to him.

Enjolras stood in the middle of the people, radiant and beautiful. “You know who I am and why I am here. The black king has been defeated. He never had the right to sit on this throne.” He sounded calm and strong and his presence filled the entire hall.

For the first time an honest and genuine smile lightened up Montparnasse’s features and made him look years younger when Enjolras raised his voice. “My brother is dead.”

The cheers of “Long live the king” started quietly and then grew louder and louder until Enjolras stopped them with a single gesture. He looked up and his eyes met Grantaire’s.  
“I’m not going to be your king. The time of kings is over. We can build this land together. A land of freedom and of equality without kings and oppressors. I saw it beginning today with the courage of a man who did what was right and if we only we can bring ourselves to act with a piece of that courage, I know we can make it happen.”

 

 

***

 

 

He could smell that he was back fore he opened his eyes.

The smell of wood and forest. The sound of birds singing in unmoving trees.

The door was gone.

Grantaire breathed in and out, then he started walking. Before he knew it he was running, running faster and faster until he reached the meadow and then the small garden and to the house.  

 

“Taire?”

He stopped right in front of the back door.

When he turned around his sister sat just where he remember her, with headphones on and a half of a flower crown made of daisies in her lap. Claire looked at him confused and he couldn’t help but fall to the ground next to her and hug her, burying his head in her hair that smelled like coconut while she struggled to get out of his embrace.

“Oh my god, Taire, what are you doing, you’re crushing me!”

Her laugh made the tears in his eyes dwell up again and he kissed her forehead before she could shove him away. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m back,” Grantaire said weakly and she seemed even more confused.

“You were gone for like half an hour.”

For some reason he had to laugh at that. It might have sounded a little hysterically.

  
Less than an hour and still three days.

 

Claire looked at him like he was crazy and suddenly flinched when something inside the house crashed. It brought him back to reality, quite literally, from one second to another.  

Grantaire helped his sister to stand up and rested his hands on her shoulders.

“Listen to me.” He was surprised how calm he sounded, how everything he had to do was suddenly so clearly, right in front of him, “You will do what I tell you, alright? You will go up in your room and take the suitcase from under the bed. Put in some clothes, toothbrush,-”

“Are we going to leave?” She interrupted him.

“Yes, we are.”

Instead of asking how long she simply nodded and ran into the house. Grantaire looked after her before he followed her inside without a second of hesitation.

 

 

***

 

_Five years later_

 

***

 

 

Normally he wouldn’t be taking that road to get to his fencing lessons but normally Grantaire also didn’t have more than an hour spare time in between his job at the coffee shop and his training. His boss had let him leave earlier today or actually she had kicked his ass so he was going to have some free hours for once even though Grantaire didn’t mind the working. It was a good opportunity to earn some money that he could put aside for paying his student loan or to get Claire some fancy chocolate or his mother some flowers from time to time.

He was always busy and he liked it. He had taken up fencing as soon as they had found a small but comfy flat in the city, his mother had taken up her job again and his sister had settled into her new school. It had somehow made everything feel real, the weight of an epee in his hands, the rush of adrenaline.

Over the time he had started boxing and later dancing as well and he loved every moment. What he loved most though was the painting and he had never regretted the decision to study art.

Because he didn’t exactly knew what to do with his spare time, going home wouldn’t be worth it for less than an hour, he wandered through the streets hoping it wouldn’t rain. Eventually it did because well, he was still living in England and it was early autumn.

The street consisted mostly of tenements but there was one lighted shop that looked like a book store.  
Grantaire crossed the street and stopped right in front of the store.

The letters over the door read ‘Rabbithole’ and for a moment his heart skipped a beat.

Then he shook his head, laughing to himself as the rain started to get heavier and entered the shop.

When the doorbell rang as Grantaire entered a cat jumped from the counter that was full of plants in painted ceramic pots, the bookshelves were crowded by hundreds and hundreds of old books in different sizes and colours but somehow the first thing Grantaire realized was the smell which wasn’t just that of dusty tomes but – weirdly – pepper as well.

Behind the counter a backdoor was slightly ajar and a voice called, “Hey, can you get that? I think I just had an epiphany!”

Grantaire frowned because somehow the voice sounded familiar. He was about to shake his head, internally scolding himself for being ridiculous, when another person answered and this time he _knew_ that voice.  
“I swear to god, Jehan, if you’re high again already, I quit!”

_Remember what I told you about our worlds._

He didn’t even have time to remember how to breathe before a tall figure walked around the corner of a shelf and crashed right into Grantaire.

Some books fell to the ground and the voice he had never been able to forget cursed. “Shit, I’m sorry.” The man kneeled down to pick up the books and Grantaire immediately followed him.

“Wait, let me help you.” His own voice sounded raw in his ears.

The man looked up and for the first time Grantaire saw his face, the unmistakable features he had tried to remember for a million times, the golden curls, the freckles dusted scattered over high cheekbones and nose.

His eyes were blue this time. They were beautiful.

His full lips curled up into a smile.

“Thank you.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Grantaire shook his head, feeling the blush creeping up his cheeks and handed him the books.

They stood up again.

The man didn’t stop smiling ever so slightly when he looked at Grantaire until suddenly he frowned and blinked.  Once. Twice.

 

“Sorry but… do I know you?”

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that's it. I never expected this story to get so long but here we are. I already started to write the next slightly weird AU that I will be posting soon. (It's an Inception AU, I don't even know anymore.)  
> You can find me [here](http://vintage-%0Ajehan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr in case you want to say hi.  
> Thank you all for reading, it was so amazing for me to write this and I really hope I you all like it and had as much fun as I did. ♥


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